


Beltane Fire

by FawkesyLady (Tarma)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beltane, Community: grangersnape100, Drabble Sequence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 17,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18726901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarma/pseuds/FawkesyLady
Summary: For Grangersnape100 Challenge: Spring Fever.Hermione Granger was invited to be one of the May Queen's handmaidens, but she had to substitute in at the last moment.Severus Snape, experienced Lord Samhain casts off the deadwood of winter to play the Green Man.Join them as they celebrate the start of Summer and call on the powers of the Earth to help Wizarding Britain rebuild. Set six years after the Battle of Hogwarts.





	1. PROLOGUE and Revised I-V

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo! I promise I haven't abandoned anything. Parts of the next chapter for Wake Me Up is done and I've an outline, I swear it! 
> 
> I needed to get my head back into writing after a few difficult RL months, so what better than a drabble, or two. Or fifty-something? I wanted to write something about May Day and I thought to myself, "What's going on over at grangersnape100?" The place I attended for undergraduate has a May Day tradition of nudity. I have fond memories of almost exclusively boys doing things like playing golf on the green (which was not a course) without pants and the whole lacrosse team running about campus with only their helmets on. 
> 
> Thanks to Havelocked for her beta assistance.

  
**Prologue**

 

Minerva climbed the winding staircase, her snow-dusted traveling cloak weighing down her shoulders. Someday she would have to accept that all of the magic in the world was not going to stop time from having its way with her. 

 

By Merlin, today was not that day. 

 

Her destination was a secret eyrie, a hidden room that waited for her on the floor above. Using her hands to pull herself along the railing, she made it to the landing and stood collecting her wits and her breath. 

 

It would not do to allow her dearest friends to see her like this. Every Sunday afternoon they gathered in the sunny space for tea, nosh, and gossip. 

 

***

 

They’d started meeting here that terrible year after Dumbledore’s death. Minerva and Pomona had stumbled upon the mysterious room together one afternoon when they’d been wandering the castle in search of some “fresh air” (as the Carrows were spectacularly flatulent).

 

A hidden door, tucked away in a little-used stairwell, led up another set of stairs to a round spacious tower room, a mirror of the Headmaster’s suite. Instead of portraits, the walls were lined with windows. Ancient furniture was left draped in sheets and dust, but with a little magic, the place was transformed into a safe spot that she and the other weary witches of the castle needed. They could not say much or interfere with the Death Eater-administered school, for if they were fired, the students would be that much more vulnerable. It went without saying that the added severance package consisting of a mandatory and immediate all-expenses-paid funeral was also a strong motivation.

 

They’d had to work together, they needed to be strong. Pomona and Minerva had invited all of the witches on staff who could be trusted (that is, all but the one). Still, it hadn’t been all plotting and rebellion. There had always been tea and biscuits, and sometimes even those little watercress sandwiches.

 

One night, Poppy had suggested they call themselves the “Femmes Fatales” in jest. None of them had had much use for men that year. Irma had objected, deeply offended by any suggestion that their little group would degrade themselves to outright violence against men (a suggestion that intrigued Rolanda), not even for sport or as potions parts (as a Potions master must make the best ingredients). Pomona suggested a society inspired by Cerridwen, or perhaps Cailleach Bheur, as they were in Scotland and ready for a fight but this failed as Sybil refused to be a part of a group inspired by a militant hag. Rolanda suggested something inspired by the underground groups that rose up in Europe to help protect the persecuted. Minerva found these distasteful the aftermath of Grindlewald’s conflict.

 

Instead, Irma had made a compelling case for calling themselves The Sisterhood . Nearly everyone could agree that this sounded dignified, suitably mysterious, and quite a bit more accurate.  

 

***

 

Right now, Minerva needed more than a moment’s peace and her sisters. It was time to revive their war council, put to rest these five years. 

 

This morning’s emergency session at the Wizengamot worried her deeply, for it seemed increasingly certain that the Wizarding world was going completely crackers. Old men blustered and spouted odorous ideas, all in a panic to preserve life as they knew it. In their hurry to restore the magical population to safe levels, they would enslave and destroy what was left of those of child-bearing age. 

 

Her breath was returning to normal so Minerva straightened her shoulders. Forget those weak-minded whinging windbags that dared call themselves wizards. This was witches’ work. 

 

The heavy oak door swung open under her touch, the ward upon it recognising her both as Headmistress and a member of their little coven. She was forced to squint against the eyrie’s sun-bright lights. Pomona had installed them so she would stop dropping stitches.

 

Cries of welcome greeted her. Before she knew it, Poppy and Pomona were at her side, the former relieving her of her cloak and the latter claiming a hug. 

 

“Minerva, you’re chilled to the bone,” Pomona said, always such a mother hen. “Why don’t you use those nice leggings that Miss Granger knitted for you?” 

 

It was easier for Minerva to put up with the clucking when she felt the wave of heat  envelop her, one of Pomona’s special charms for winter. The first time she’d been subjected to the wandless cuddle-charm, Pomona had needed to calm her down for Minerva was particular about being simultaneously  _ enchanted _ and  _ touched _ . 

 

Clearing her throat, a vision of those same woolen leggings came to Minerva’s mind. They were warm, but they also made it difficult to walk because they were knitted from thick wool and covered with cables and knotwork that held enchantments of both protection and  temperature regulation . Rudely put, Hermione’s well-intentioned handiwork made her waddle like a duck, and that would not do for a Wizengamot meeting, no matter how cold it was. 

 

Poppy herded the pair of them over to the circle of padded chairs and sofas, making certain that Minerva sat down and was settled before handing over a cup of tea already waiting for her arrival. 

 

Irma greeted her with a nod and the supremely companionable gesture of putting down her book.  One had to take what one could get from the extremely reserved witch. 

 

After the first cup of tea, Minerva squinted about the room. Not finding the missing member, she asked, “Where’s Sybil?” 

 

Making a face, Irma picked her book back up and looked for all the world as though she had much to say. 

 

It was Poppy who answered, however. “She had a restless night, so she’s having a lie-in.”  Minerva must have let her disapproval show, for Poppy said, “I am trying to persuade her to go back to the Mind Healers, Headmistress. We must be patient with her, for she suffers nightmares and cannot tell what is and isn’t prophecy. It is exhausting.”  

Everyone sat in silence, no doubt all recalling a night when they’d had to coax Sybil back from the edge of her private balcony. Madam Hooch had spotted her and called for help before the worst happened. 

 

It would not do to linger on such dark times. The present day world was a mess, and it was up to them to fix it. “Well, we can fill her in later. You will not believe what the Wizengamot has in mind this time! I swear some of the bastards are just looking for an excuse to get into our young witches’ knickers for the Greater Good.” 

 

She continued to explain the current proposal for a marriage law to boost the Wizarding population. It would require all witches of childbearing age, that is up to age sixty, to submit to medical exams. Then the witches who were still fertile would be contracted in marriage to a partner not of their choice, but selected from eligible wizards who’d undergone similar testing. These marriage contracts would last until they produced a specific number of children, dependent on what the Healers felt was the witch’s best reproductive potential.  Ginevra Weasley, for example, might be expected to carry five to seven children. Failure to meet these obligations would result in summary expulsion of the individual from magical society unless the Healers found a change in the couple’s reproductive health or compatibility. That would result in reassignment. 

 

Her friends responded with genteel expressions of shock. Irma, a normally taciturn bibliophile, made a grand gesture of unprecedented fury by slamming her book closed. Having everyone’s attention, she spoke for the first time that afternoon. “That will not do. Not at all!” 

 

“I agree! They wouldn’t dare.” Poppy shifted to sit on the edge of her chair, her face pale, her hands shaking. Her eyes, usually a nondescript watery grey, had hardened to steel. 

 

Minerva imagined the usually kind and compassionate mediwitch performing a  complimentary castration on every wizard foolish enough to support the motion. It would be so easy, and a good lesson in consent for the crooks. Tempting indeed. 

 

Pomona, ever the voice of reason, said, “Is the problem really so bad as that, Minerva? Surely it is only  _ time _ that our young people need. What’s the justification for forcing anyone into parenthood?” 

 

Irma said, “Yes. Where’s the data?” Her thin arms were folded across her chest and her knuckles went white with tension. Much more and she’d have bruises. 

 

After draining her second cup of tea, Minerva marshaled her thoughts and provided a summary of the presentation given by one Marietta Edgecombe, undersecretary to the chairman of the Magical Census subcommittee. It was a well researched presentation, and she’d shared graphs and charts that updated before their eyes. Deaths far outstripped births, and magical birth s were at an all-time low. The population of the youngest and most fertile members of society had been shrinking slowly over the past two centuries, but the impact of three wars were obvious to anyone who had eyes to see. 

 

Worse, Edgecombe continued her presentation with details of what had already been tried. For the past two years, studies by the Healers at St Mungo’s, attempting to come up with new treatments for infertility, showed no promise. Incentives to marry and procreate had been  introduced on a limited trial basis, but were unsuccessful at tempting any but the already willing to tie the knot. 

 

The Department of Mysteries shared the results of their research, and it was the consensus that it was magic itself that was the problem. The black magics employed regularly by Voldemort’s followers and on a wide scale poisoned the country even now. They estimated that it would take 300 years before the natural magic would return to full power. 

 

Pomona poured another round of tea. When she finished, she broke the silence. “Well. That’s quite the pickle.” 

 

“Yes. Yes, it is,” replied Poppy. Minerva was relieved to see the mediwitch had regained control of herself,  her hand steady when she picked up her cup of tea. 

 

The silence from Irma was, for lack of a better word,  _ deafening _ . Her usual nonverbal communication was often sardonic and disparaging, making her wonder—not for the first time—if the woman might be related to Snape. As Minerva decanted her intelligence from the Wizengamot, her initial reaction started in full derision which progressed to tight-mouthed fury. As Minerva related the Department of Mysteries’ report, Irma had become pensive, her face relaxing to a mask. 

 

As Pomona and Poppy bounced ideas back and forth, all of which had already been touched upon by the Wizengamot, Minerva continued to observe the librarian. 

 

She recognised that look. 

 

The witch had an idea. 

 

When a lull in the discussion presented itself, Minerva decided she’d waited long enough. “Irma. What are you thinking? Any idea is worth consideration, given the stakes.” 

 

Mouth twisting in a scowl, the librarian met Minerva’s eyes steadily. “As much as I am loathe to bring up such a fanciful idea, I believe that the old rites might represent our best chance.” 

 

“Oh, surely not!” Poppy cried. “That’s hardly better than a marriage decree!” She then lowered her voice in embarrassment. “I mean, isn’t that sex magic?” A blush on her parchment-pale cheeks betrayed her interest. 

 

Minerva digested the idea.  She’d  had an interest in the old gods and celebrations since she was a girl. More recently, the Board of Governors floated a proposal to reintroduce the old ways. “The ritual requires only a symbolic marriage, and participation would be voluntary. In fact, it could be performed privately... “ 

 

Irma interrupted, raising her voice to be better heard. “No, it couldn’t. The rituals are magnified by the assembly’s will and the strength of their faith. A crowd needs to take part in the ceremony; the more pageantry the better. And we’ll need a properly consecrated circle.” 

 

Clearing her throat to garner attention, Pomona said, “It is lucky that the village of Hogsmeade is going to celebrate Beltane with the full ritual.” With a nervous titter she added, “Severus was a wonderful Lord this past Samhain, although he would die of embarrassment if he thought you all knew. I can count on you all not to tease the poor wizard. It is wonderful to see him excited about anything. In fact, he’s been asked back as Green Man.” 

 

Minerva was already aware of the development, but hadn’t known that Snape confided so much in Pomona. She didn’t need to wait long for an explanation, for the combined stares of disbelief prodded the Herbologist to further frankness. 

 

Pomona said, “It is a very great secret, mind you. He needs help with his costume, and asked me for advice. Really, the project’s an exciting challenge for us because I’m going to grow it and it will be in pieces.”  Her hands waved in the air as she elaborated on her passion.

 

Poppy’s hands clasped in front of her bosom and she smiled, leaning in. “I don’t suppose you need help with taking measurements…?”  It was an awful impression of wide-eyed innocence. 

 

As the two witches devolved into a competition of innuendo, Irma captured Minerva’s ear. “This must be done at the right place and time, with people who are in the right frame of mind. We need to stall the Wizengamot’s vote. Do you think you can manage that? ” 

 

“I’ll see if Secretary Edgecombe would be willing to meet with me. We should bring in Severus on this as well, for he might have thoughts on who else within the Ministry might have interest in supporting our counter-proposal.” 

 

Pomona’s merriment disappeared and after hushing Poppy, she interjected, “I promised Severus faithfully that I wouldn’t gossip. The poor lad’s already had such a time of things.” 

 

Minerva reached over to place a steadying hand on Pomona’s shoulder. “Of course, I will need to be involved in the Hogsmeade event planning, so he’ll have to accept that I know his secret from other sources, and that it was, in fact, need-to-know.” 

 

The first blush of excitement was passing off but the energy of the group remained high. All four of the witches put their heads together to concoct the rest of their plan in earnest, and Sybil drifted in. Fortunately she’d foreseen it all, so she needed only a scant debriefing. No one needed her to point out how bad this would be for their society, but she did her part with dramatic gusto. 

 

Minerva was heartened by how simple the solution might be, since much of what was needed was already in place. Come this May, they would invoke a higher power in a ritual as old as the standing stones. The whole affair stank of fate, and this time Sybil hadn’t needed to point it out. 

 

If the Department of Mysteries was right, the tremendous scope of the problem required a solution much larger than a marriage law. 

 

Their world needed a miracle. 

 

It was up to The Sisterhood to invoke it.

 

***

 

**I**

 

When the village of Hogsmeade invited her to be a White Lady, Hermione went to the library. 

 

The role appealed to her law-abiding nature, as she and a host of other white-painted witches would work together to protect the May Queen from the Red Men. These red-painted agents of chaos made it their mission to use trickery to derail the Beltane ritual. 

 

Painted in white from head to toe, she and the other maidens would repel the miscreants. Earlier Hermione cut herself a rod of rowan, specifically for whacking idiots in red. She’d researched some amusing hexes she wanted to try out. It was all part of the pageantry. 

 

It was what happened later in the woods that occupied Hermione’s mind. All were encouraged to engage in the most ancient fertility ritual of all, with rigor. Beltane babies were blessings. 

 

Hermione’s reputation cursed her love life. Wizards either wooed her for personal gain, or were too intimidated to give her a chance. Since her break up with Ron, every failure was reported by the Prophet, one romantic calamity after the next, featured in front-page news. 

 

Tonight would be different. She could hide herself beneath body paint. Divine intervention wouldn’t hurt. 

 

II

 

Although his identity was kept secret, Severus’ performance was widely acclaimed as the Winter aspect of the God last October in Hogsmeade’s Samhain ceremony. He’d masterfully portrayed the role of the Celtic Lord of the Dead, for what wizard was darker or more powerful than he? 

 

Now he wore a different mask, one fashioned of spring leaves. 

 

Tonight he’d be reborn as the Green Man. Winter’s decaying cloak would burn away in holy fire. He would marry the May Queen in a symbolic matrimonial rite and serve her as king and husband for a night. 

 

He hoped she was comely. 

 

**III**

 

There was no way that Sybil was going to stand for it. 

 

Minerva foolishly permitted the Ministry to choose the witch who would become the May Queen and had the gall to keep her name a secret. That wasn’t good enough to conceal the conspiracy from Sybil’s all-seeing eye. 

 

Marietta Edgecombe was not the right witch, and Sybil’s cards predicted disaster if they allowed their Severus to stand up with  _ her. _

 

It was easy to insinuate herself into the Queen’s retinue, where Sybil braided a cursed ribbon into the unworthy witch’s hair. 

 

No one suspected a thing. 

 

This was fate.

  
  


***

 

_ What a disaster! _ Poppy thought. 

 

The original May Queen was ill, most likely cursed. Sybil volunteered to take her to St Mungo’s so  it fell to Poppy to recast the part. “Miss Granger, you’ll have to do it.” 

 

“What?!” Hermione cried. “I’m not prepared!” 

 

“Didn’t you bathe with the other maids in the morning dew?” 

 

“Of course!”

 

“Are you with child, dear?” 

 

“No!” 

 

Poppy Pomfrey sighed ruefully. “I forget that Gryffindors are embarrassed by fertility rituals. You are perfect for the role, being both single and skilled with pyromancy.” 

 

“Yes, but...” 

  
“Get changed! Pomona will help with your crown.  _ Quickly _ !” 

 

 

**IV**

 

“What the buggering fuck, Mr Weasley?” Severus glared at the wanker who’d moments ago forced a metal flask into his hand. 

 

Through his blue facepaint, George’s cheeks burned. “I thought you’d appreciate liquid fortification.” 

 

Severus’ eyes watered after taking a whiff of the fumes from the flask. Whiskey.  _ Cheap  _ Whiskey. “Shouldn’t you be in red, Weasley?” 

 

“That’ll be Bill and Charlie. Ron and I are in acolyte blue. Right! Headmistress McGonagall wants you to join her in the circle, so drink up.” 

 

Severus dumped the flask. Never trust a drink from a Weasley twin. 

 

He hadn’t completely lost his wits.

 

Ten minutes later, as the sun lowered to the horizon, Severus was beginning to reconsider his position. 

 

The crowd was much greater than it had been for Samhain. The Prophet reported on the plans with as much enthusiasm as they might for a Quidditch World Cup. 

 

Severus maintained his anonymity, defending it as his right. The May Queen had taken similar precautions. 

 

Red-painted pranksters riled up the townsfolk. The Blue acolytes kept the chaos away from the circle where Severus stood waiting.  

 

It wasn’t long before two columns of White-clad witches marched into view. 

 

The May Queen approached.  _At last._

 

**V**

 

The circle’s power beckoned to Hermione as she approached. 

 

Four gates, each dedicated to a primal element, were defined by a pair of sandstone boulders no taller than her hip. 

 

The outward appearance of the circle was unimpressive, yet massive amounts of power would flow through it tonight. The Beltane ritual would permit them to tap into the invisible ley line buried in the earth.

 

Only the chief celebrants would have the honour of entering the sacred circle during the rite. 

 

Barefoot, Hermione offered a prayer with every step. She asked for healing, for love, and for magically gifted children. 

 

Central to the ceremonial circle, a massive bonfire burned brightly. 

 

When she approached the  E arth Gate, she felt a tingle which intensified to pleasant warmth which flowed through her.  It was the euphoria akin to the thrill of doing shots of tequila while flirting with handsome men.

 

Opposite her, across the fire, a tall masked wizard in shabby robes bowed greeting. “My queen.”

 

She returned his bow, wondering what sort of man was hidden under those curtains of greenery. She’d expected antlers. Instead, curled satyr horns sprung from each temple, affixing the half-mask in place. 

 

His black eyes set her soul ablaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra thanks to Havelocked, Toodleoo, and deweydecimateher for the suggestions and patience they had with me as I rewrote what started as a whim and has grown to so much more. You're heroes!
> 
> Love goes also to Coromandel, milotzi, and gingerbred for their advice!


	2. REVISED: VI-X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the grangersnape100 Spring Fever Challenge.  
> Thanks to Havelocked for her beta support. :)  
> Revised 9/12/19: Thanks also go to Toodleoo and deweydecimateher for their beta assistance. You guys make my story better, thank you.

**VI**

 

Hermione watched the Green Man circle the fire with predatorial grace. His raiment of woven ivy billowed as he spun and dipped, his arms held wide in a demonstration of controlled strength.

 

The rhythm of the ritual drums bound everyone together, and each beat resonated deep within her. 

 

His glances were intense. He never lost track of her as they stalked about the bonfire. 

 

Excitement lit up every nerve, as though she were bathed in lightning. 

 

He was as much her prey as she was his. 

 

Hermione wondered what would happen if she allowed herself to be caught. 

 

 

**VII**

 

Severus moved with the drum beat. He welcomed the energy building in the circle, allowing it to course through him as he meditated on his May Queen. 

 

From the first moment he saw her he felt a compulsion to catch her. He couldn’t explain why or how, but already he belonged to her.  

 

As he completed the first turn about the fire he vanished the first of seven swathes of dull winter shroud, revealing his left flank. The night air was chill on his exposed back. 

 

He was _born_ for this night. 

 

Through the dance, the God woke within him. 

  


**VIII**

 

As Hermione passed the Earth Gate for the third time, petals fluttered across her vision. Her crown of budding vines was blooming, surrounding her with their sublime perfume. 

 

Inhaling deeply, she surrendered to the dance. 

 

Confidence blossomed within, for her heart believed that everything was as it should be. 

 

 **_Watch how he moves for us_ **. Hermione recognized the voice of the Goddess. 

 

The wizard was casting off his garments in stages, undergoing an erotic transformation. 

 

She admired his muscles, highlighted by runes painted on his shoulders. 

  


Boldly, he returned her appraisal with a wicked smirk. 

 

The Goddess sighed. **_He’s perfect._ **

 

 

**IX**

 

Sunwise, Severus leapt about the bonfire. With each circuit he set loose another obscuring curtain of moss and ivy from his costume, revealing more of his rune-painted skin. Casting off winter’s indolence, he felt lighter.

 

The May Queen glowed, fecund with feminine power. She embodied purity, love, and fertility. 

 

The wounded land and its people needed her. 

 

 _He_ needed her. 

 

She was beautiful, spinning with fists ablaze with witchfire. The blooming crown upon her brow dropped delicate petals, leaving a trail of fragrance in her wake. 

 

He stepped upon the sacred earth with soft feet to please his Goddess. 

  


**X**

 

Hermione understood what needed to happen next. She was a strong witch. Capable. Utterly dedicated. Willing.

 

The quiet presence within her unfurled, widening her awareness of the land. Deep, iron-cold nodes of magic, stained with corruption shrunk before the light of her new eyes. 

 

 _We need your help_ , Hermione pleaded with the Goddess. _What can I give you?_  

 

The Goddess answered her with a wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her, compassion laced with sorrow. 

 

Black pain called to them from across the fire, mirroring their own. 

 

Together she and the Goddess would push back the darkness.   

 

With _fire._


	3. Revised: XI-XVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For grangersnape100 Spring Fever Challenge.  
> Thanks to Havelocked for her Beta love! Toodleoo helped too!

**XI**

 

Minerva McGonagall’s connection to this land, that of her mother’s mother before her was deep. The stones of the highlands were as her own bones. The earth was stiff and arthritic with the chill of winter’s last exhalation. 

 

The drumbeat intensified. Under her feet the ground shook with the rhythmic stomping from the watching crowds. They invited something  _ other _ . 

 

Blinded by the fire as she was, she saw them immediately. 

 

Unearthly and aethereal, a royal procession approached its number both mounted and on foot. 

 

The fae returned at last, after a hundred years absence. 

 

“Blessed be!” Minerva exclaimed in wonder.

 

**XII**

 

The fae procession halted at the Gate of Air, across from where Minerva stood ready at the Gate of Earth. 

 

The Green Man and the May Queen danced past, both entirely absorbed in the dance, unaware of their guests. 

 

A fae with a shining brow stepped forward, and after offering his obeisance to his queen, he approached Minerva with a mischievous smile. 

 

“We heard your call,” the fae said. “We came.” His eyes were familiar. 

 

When she put out milk and bread this morning Minerva hadn’t expected an appearance from the fae court. No, she’d expected the tiny egg-laying variety.

 

Her Grandmother practiced the old ways, and Minerva learned at her knee in secret from her father. Gran met a fae when she was young, before they disappeared. What was his name?

 

“Robin Goodfellow! That’s who you are!” exclaimed Minerva.

 

His sharp grin widened in pleasure. “What a fascinating pair dance for us tonight!” 

 

A sense of foreboding moved Minerva to politeness. “We welcome you and your Lady. What are your intentions?” She needed to be careful.

 

He gestured around the circle, “To assist the Green Man in his transformation.” His smile faded as he added, “To set things right.” 

  
  
  


**XIII**

 

This wasn’t something Hermione learned about in the library, but she knew what to do. Trailing tails of white mage light wove about the fire from her hands, consecrating the circle. Her awareness of her dance partner was keen, and she’d noticed the intensity of his fine dark eyes. 

 

After the war, she’d mourned. Her wounds and hurts darkened her days, and nightmares shattered her nights. 

 

The beat of the drums quickened. Magic burned bright within her, and her heart shouted in joyful exultation. 

 

_ Now is the winter of my people’s discontent _ , thought Hermione. _ Welcome, glorious summer! Welcome, Green Man! _

  
  


**XIV**

 

Severus approached the  Gate of Water, marking the completion of his last circuit.  The drummers stopped, and his ears rang in the abrupt silence. Across the flames, the May Queen also slowed to a halt. 

 

She was a fair maid, her throat marked with a single line of vermilion that drew his eye downward. The soft curves of her alabaster bosom made his mouth water. 

 

His fingers twitched with desire and his cock strained against polite confinement of the kilt. 

 

A stranger stepped up to him, disturbing his lust-fueled rapture. “Hail, Green Man. Your bride awaits. Shall I fetch her?” 

  
  


**XV**

 

Severus’ vision wavered.

 

**“Puck!”** exclaimed the God. His divine breath tasted of sunlight on Severus’ tongue. 

 

“One in the same,” the fae replied. 

 

 **“Bring only blessing to this circle,”** said the God. **“I’ve no use for mayhem, merry or no.”** Warm hands settled lightly on Severus’ shoulders, his presence deceptively solid and comforting. 

 

A hearty laugh escaped Puck. “Peace! I serve Queen Mab who is in a generous humour, and I wish to please her. You desire to please your Goddess. Alas,” he said, examining the Green Man, "I am distracting your vessel.” 

 

McGonagall required their attention. “Approach the altar.” 

  
  


**XVI**

 

Hermione tossed her blue flame to the fire before conjuring a carved wooden chalice. It filled with a golden liquid that rippled as she moved forward. Her wand lay tucked into her bodice, forgotten. 

 

In spite of the warm spring night and the fire nearby, McGonagall was pale as she stood in her robes of mother’s green behind the stone altar. 

 

Setting her offering carefully on the table, she kept her eyes fixed, watching a wand slide into place beside it. Birch. First tree to return after a forest fire. Renewal. 

 

A breeze cooled her sweat-dampened skin, and she shivered.

  
  


**XVII**

 

Earlier, he’d bitterly admitted that this rite was as close as he was ever likely to come to a true wedding. Such bliss was not for one such as Severus Snape.

 

He harboured no expectations, no hope. 

 

The fire dance broke the final bindings of his dark misgivings and he’d thrown himself into the role of the suitor of the May Queen. 

 

They were clasping hands, and he struggled manfully for self-discipline for she had fantastic tits.  Sweet nipples peeked at him through a thin veil of silk. 

 

He was utterly lost when he looked into her velvet brown eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyes up here, buddy. ;)


	4. Revised: XVIII-XXIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For grangersnape100 Spring Fever Challenge. They're on LJ.  
> Thanks to Havelocked for betaing me better. Revised with inspiration from Toodleoo. :)

**XVIII**

 

Hermione loved his scent: moss and new leaves with the tang of male musk. She wanted to taste him, to touch him.

 

Their hands met, palm to palm.

 

His fingers fascinated her: lean and long with neatly squared nails. 

 

She’d forgotten about her scar, until he slid into position, clasping each about the other’s forearm. 

 

There was no sign of revulsion in his dark eyes. Instead, they were alive with appreciation. 

 

Feeling ten times a fool, she let her eyes drop in a thin parody of modesty. _He’s_ _magnificent_ , she thought.

 

His thumb tenderly traced runes onto her sensitive skin.

 

 

**XIX**

 

McGonagall lifted her arms, and the noise of the crowd disappeared into a tense silence.

 

Raw energy pulsed within their circle. Magic’s own heartbeat.

 

“We gather in celebration. I greet you, May Queen. Welcome, Jack Green.”

 

As one the couple turned their heads to respond, breaking their silent communion.

 

“Goddess of Creation, older than the stars, first voice to raise in the song of this world, attend on us now. Our world and its people are weary, war-ravaged, and sickened. Help us burn anew.”

 

Minerva looked on in awe as Hermione recited words written nowhere but within her pure heart.

 

 

**XX**

 

Licking her lips, Hermione raised her voice. “The Goddess within me cries out, invites the God within you closer! Be king to her queen, father to her sons, champion to her people, and companion to end her solitude.”

 

Why could her tongue speak words before she herself remembered them? 

 

“Though for myself I love you, my people need you. Will you leave the freedom of youth and take up the burden of king and husband?” 

 

Her heart fluttered like a caged pixie. 

 

_ Fuck. _ She’d proposed to a complete stranger. 

 

One heartbeat. Two. She couldn’t focus. 

 

Why hasn’t he answered? 

 

_ Fuck! _

 

 

**XXI**

 

Sun-bright joy threatened to break the single thread of reason to which Severus clung. 

 

She’d proposed a true handfasting. Not merely a symbolic union as was expected. They’d be bound for a year and a day. 

 

“Yes, you do understand, don’t you?” Puck chortled. “How amusing!” 

 

**“Puck,”** scolded the God, speaking through Severus’ mouth. 

 

“Your vessel has wit,” Puck said. “Will you or won’t you? Choose!” 

 

_ What if he chose not? What consequences? _

 

**_The wheel will still turn,_ ** the God said, addressing Severus’s thoughts. **_Summer will bless your land. Consider; I could do so much more if you allow it._ **

 

 

**XXII**

 

The pressure of the God’s hands on Severus’ shoulders increased a fraction. Moments of true happiness rose from his memory, juxtaposed against the dark ones that haunted him. 

 

His burden of guilt weighed him down.

 

The God within addressed Severus directly.  **_Give me your pain, son. It has forged you with hammers into a strong wizard, but in turn you have fed it of yourself. It poisons your great soul._ **

 

Severus replied,  _ My soul is too damaged to be great. _

 

Puck laughingly mocked Severus. “Are you sure this dunderhead is the right one, Bright Lord?” 

Defiant, Severus made his decision.

 

 

**XXIII**

 

A fey light shone from the Green Man’s eyes. His features were masked, unmoving for what felt an eternity. Even his thumb ceased its soothing caresses.

 

Had she said something wrong? She shut her eyes, summoning calm to stop the building spiral of panic and self-doubt within her.

 

At long last, he spoke in a rich baritone. “If this is your will, so it is also my will.”

 

Her eyes flew open and she wondered if she was dreaming.  

 

That voice… that voice was unfair. Sinful. This wizard could undo her with spoken word alone.  

 

Hermione prayed to never wake.

 

 

**XXIV**

 

Severus’ grip on her arm firmed, anchoring him in the moment. 

 

“Together we will cast out darkness and decay. Your people are now my people. I lay down my freedom so I might stand at your side as King and servant. I bind myself to you and this land, and in so doing we bless one another.”

 

The little witch trembled, her eyes bright with emotion.

 

Puck whispered, “Smile at her, you great oaf.”

 

Casually, Severus shifted his weight and stepped backwards hard on the sidhe’s toe.

 

Warm laughter welled up within him, spilling over into a rare, true smile.  


	5. Revised: XXV-XXIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the grangersnape100 Spring Fever challenge.  
> Because I like the thought of Snape dressed in little more than a skimpy kilt and horned mask, dancing to seduce a woman. And maybe finding the love of his life for his trouble. What? It could happen.  
> Thanks to Havelocked for beta kindness.

**XXV**

 

She wished she could slow time, grip the moment tightly so that it couldn’t slip through her fingers before she’d fully examined it. 

 

How could a man’s lips be so expressive, so sexy? His grin made her insides melt.  

 

Desperate to maintain her composure, she acknowledged the shadows within her, spotlighted by this stranger’s singular attention. 

 

_ I’m being silly,  _ Hermione said to the Goddess within _. There’s no man out there who’d smile at me like that _ _ — _ _ much less wed Hermione Granger.  _

 

**_Sweet child,_ ** replied the Goddess **_. It is your wedding day. Look down. The Green Man finds you worthy._ **

 

_ Wait. What?! _

 

 

**XXVI**

 

Unable to resist the Goddess’s teasing, Hermoine dropped her gaze. She swiftly bit down on her gasp of astonishment.  _ Merlin’s pants! _ That loincloth… kilt? It sure wasn’t hiding much. 

 

Great, she was blushing like a virgin.  

 

_ He can’t be interested in … me?  _ Hermione asked _.  _ The spark of doubt threatened to burn down her dreams.  _ Please. Don’t play with me. My heart couldn’t handle such disappointment.  _

 

Bell-like laughter from the Goddess filled her mind.  **_Hermione, you invited me in. Surely you know who I am?_ ** __

 

_ A dream? Or maybe I’ve developed a case of carbon monoxide poisoning from that fire...  _

 

 

**XXVII**

 

**_My sweet, confused girl,_ ** the Goddess said **_. This is real._ **

 

_ What have I done? _ asked Hermione.

 

**_By opening your will to me, you allow me to move through you into the world, work through you. I see differently through your eyes, Hermione. Our people and our land suffer. They need us. War blights magic. It must be reborn._ **

 

Pain clenched in her chest, slowing her heart rate.  _ I know, Goddess. Will it ever end? I… I’m so lost. So weary.  _

 

Compassion radiated from that gentle presence.  **_You need not face everything alone. I will be with you. As will this one, if you let him._ **

 

 

**XXVIII**

 

_ How do you know?  _ Hermione asked. _ He doesn’t know anything about me. _

 

**_You forget who I am_ ** , replied the Goddess _. _ **_I understand his soul, bright one._ **

 

The Goddess’s laughter rippled through her mind, wearing down the sharp edges of Hermione’s pain at the thoughts of deception, of imposing an obligation on the wizard.

 

**_He needs you as much as you need him. As much as our land and its people need you both. Only through love and trust can this work be accomplished._ **

 

Dare she hope? The Goddess would not lie. She couldn’t.  

 

_ Oh, who am I kidding? I’m Hermione fucking Granger. Let’s do this!  _

 

 

**XXIX**

 

**_Say the words, child. I too am impatient to meet and marry my God._ **

 

Hermione spoke, willing her voice steady. “As water, I shall soothe your hurts and wash away doubt with my love.”

 

“I accept your love, and in drinking your Divine Essence, I shall find my true self.”

 

Her eyes widened at the shocking innuendo.

 

A blue ribbon of light appeared in Hermione’s fingers and wrapped itself about their clasped arms. The hair on her arms stood up straight, for an electrifying wave of pure magic flowed through her from some unseen well within.

 

McGonagall choked and sputtered.


	6. Revised: XXX-XXXVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the piece started for Grangersnape100.  
> I didn't finish it in it's entirety before they changed the challenge. * mopey face *  
> Thanks to Havelocked for putting up with my niffler-focus.  
> Revised with Toodleoo's help to make more sense. Dialogue tags are useful, who knew?

**XXX**   
  


Words flowed not from memory, but from deep within Severus. “As wind, I shall chase away the fog of uncertainty with wisdom, and protect you and your people with my breath.”

 

His queen blushed prettily as she answered. “I accept your gifts of strong mind and unwavering loyalty. Nightmares and false hearts will trouble our people no more.” 

 

A second ribbon of magic, glowing gold, unfurled within his own fist then snaked about their arms, tying them closer together. 

 

What would her reaction be when she spied what remained of his dark mark, secretly pressed against her pure alabaster skin? 

  
  


**XXXI**

 

Hermione’s world had narrowed down to a keen awareness of the virile man and God to whom she was binding her magic. His passion radiated off of him in waves. 

 

She spoke. “As earth, I shall bear you up through dark times, and from my secret self I shall create life and death as they come in their seasons.” 

 

He replied, “I shall rejoice in the gifts of life you share and in turn I will labour beside you and your people to build a better life as husband, father, and consort. Together, always.”

 

Green magic entwined about their wrists. 

  
  


**XXXII**

 

Severus’ heart swelled to the bursting point, fed by the naked joy reflected in his queen’s eyes. 

 

**_Steady on, Son,_ ** the God reassured Severus. ****

 

“As fire,”  Severus said,  “I choose to burn brightly in the passion of my love for you. My heart’s light shall show our people their way. I will support you and defend your honour, always.” 

 

“I shall bask in the heat of your regard,”  she replied, “and dance for you as your flames banish the forces of corruption and decay from our hearts and our magic.”

 

A ribbon of ruby red magic joined the first three.  

  
  


**XXXIII**

 

McGonagall inspected the golden-haired fae as he stepped around Severus to join her at the altar. Those pointed ears and teeth to rival a shark’s would never be mistaken for human. Her teacher’s instincts detected laughter in his impossibly old eyes. 

 

It was highly irregular to have a fae standing in as Priest. She’d hadn’t requested assistance. Still, she wasn’t foolish enough to protest. 

 

A royal purple ribbon appeared in her hands. “The love of our people surrounds you both.” The handfasting vows were nearly complete. 

 

Puck gently took the ribbon from her and wrapped it about her friends’ wrists. 

  
  


**XXXIV**

 

“If it is your will, speak the words and be bound together as king and queen.” 

 

The Goddess spoke with Hermione’s tongue. Her voice was music. “ **I am the one who moves as two** .” 

 

**“I am the two who move as one.”** The God spoke through his chosen human vessel. The earth shuddered in answer.

 

The king and queen responded in unison. “As it is, as it was, as it always shall be.”  

 

Minerva recoiled from the otherworldly light which occupied her friend’s eyes. The shocked exclamation escaped before she could master herself. “Merlin!” 

 

Puck shouted, “SO MOTE IT BE!” 

  
  


**XXXV**

 

Hermione’s hand was abruptly full of undulating power, like a fistful of bees that sparked and buzzed, threatening to break away. Reflexively she relaxed her grip on her partner’s arm and pulled down, concentrating on drawing the magic toward her intending to examine it. 

 

Grunting in surprise, her partner did the same, his fingers lightly leaving a path of electricity on her skin.

 

A complex knot of light hung in the air, tying them together. It was beautiful, and she felt a loss when the magic faded from her mortal eyes.

 

Her arm felt distinctly odd. There was no pain. 

  
  


**XXXVI**

 

Severus’ heart clenched in his chest, and he shut his eyes as the agony of old guilt found purchase in his gut again. 

 

The Mark. 

 

Their ritual magic flowed through it. It was wrong to accept this role. Now the rite was irretrievably tainted, and yet another good thing in his life was ruined by his stupidity. 

 

“Well, that worked perfectly. Open your eyes, foolish mortal.” It was Puck, that irritating sod of a fae. 

 

The Mark… It was gone. His skin was unmarred, smooth. 

 

What if it transferred... 

 

She stood shocked, staring at her own arm. 

 

No. No, no…


	7. Revised: XXXVII-XLIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for grangersnape100, Spring Fever Challenge.  
> Thanks to Havelocked for her beta help. Thanks also to Toodleoo!

**XXXVII**

 

Tears sprang to Hermione’s eyes, blurring the evidence of the miraculously unmarred flesh. 

 

People cry at the strangest times, when a release of intense emotion becomes overwhelming. She was healed. 

 

No scar, no curse. 

 

Healed. 

 

“Show me.”  Calloused fingers took possession of her arm. 

 

She looked down, unable to contain a strange amalgam of sob and chortle. 

 

“There’s nothing here.” His warm fingers spasmed about her wrist, and he barked, “Are you in pain!?” 

 

Hermione shook her head, tears spilling messily onto her cheeks. 

 

Lifting her eyes, she smiled broadly, trying to convey that everything was much better than alright. 

  
  
  


**XXXVIII**

  
  


The May Queen looked up at Severus, pearlescent tears slipping down her cheeks, at odds with her smile. What calamity caused this strange reversal? 

 

Half-formed, stuttering apologies died on his lips, for she smiled brighter than a  _ Lumos Maxima _ . 

 

His head swam giddily with relief. Throat tight, he croaked, “You have blessed me, my Lady. Beyond deserving.” 

 

“I, too, have been blessed. Oh, you’re too wonderful!” She wrapped her arms about his chest in a heartfelt embrace. 

 

Eardrum shattering cheers and whistles broke out all around them. 

 

He’d forgotten that they had an audience. 

 

Growling, he bent and kissed her. Thoroughly. 

  
  


**XXXIX**

 

A low, vibrating growl startled her. Afraid she’d made a mistake, Hermione tried to step back, giving him space. His strong arms held her in place. 

 

She was struck by many things at once: 

 

People were shouting and cheering. 

He wasn’t actually upset that she took liberties with his person. 

His lips were soft, not too wet. 

His mouth tasted like spearmint toothpaste. 

This wizard really knew how to kiss a witch. 

 

At length, the disengaged, manoeuvring to avoid knocking noses. 

 

“Alright, my Lady?” He whispered. 

 

She was very glad for his grip because her knees had turned to jelly.

  
  


**XL**

 

Nearby, McGonagall cleared her throat dryly. “If you two are quite done, we have a few more things left to do.”

 

Hermione dropped her forehead to the man’s chest with an embarrassed giggle before turning around without disengaging from the lean, very underdressed wizard who’d just kissed her.

 

If she let go, he might disappear. It was a silly worry, but he didn’t move to release her either. 

 

The strange Priest who’d stood at the man’s shoulder reached over and presented her with the wand and a leer. 

 

Blushing, Hermione accepted the wand, pressing a light kiss to the tip. 

  
  


**XLI**

  
  


The erotic sight of his queen kissing his wand set Severus’ cock twitching in enthusiastic approval.  

 

Her own natural magic was as charming as any enchantment or curse. Did she know what she did to him? 

 

The chalice floated over to him, and the sour glare that followed made Severus want to roar with laughter. Minerva could scowl all she wanted. 

 

Tonight, nothing would distract him.

 

He plucked the ash wood vessel out of the air, enjoying the way it fit his hand.

 

He swirled the liquid to admire its golden viscosity. Honey mead, a fitting libation. 

 

Luscious. Like his queen.

 

**XLII**

 

“Tut tut tut, knave. First she must stir.” Puck was laughing, and while the congregated people had hushed, some still shouted lewd suggestions. 

 

Raising his brows in amusement, safely hidden behind his mask, he lowered the chalice so she need not go up on tiptoes. His Lady was pleasingly petite. 

 

Biting her lower lip, perhaps to hold back her own laughter, she shyly submerged the tip of his wand, twirling it about in the sunwise direction. 

 

After withdrawing it, dripping with golden liquid, the minx raised the wand to her mouth and licked it clean. 

 

How sorely Severus was tempted.

  
  


**XLIII**

 

Those dark eyes watched Hermione intently, shielded behind his black lashes. 

 

Perhaps it was the magic of the rite—or his kiss—that’d made her dangerously playful.

 

The way he groaned as she dragged her tongue along the length of his birch wand made up her mind. She decided that she would have him, make him lose control.

 

There was a glint of promise in his eye as he tilted back to finish the entirety of the mead, licking the rim clean. 

 

He looked at her as a thirsty man would a glass of water. 

  
_ Drink me just like that.  _


	8. Revised: XLIV-L

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written as an extension of grangersnape100 challenge "Spring Fever."  
> Beta'd by Havelocked and Toodleoo.

**XLIV**

 

He half listened to McGonagall grinding along in an interminable series of incantations, reinforcing with prayer what the ritual was meant to do.

 

This was a much better solution than reviving an archaic marriage law. Yes, magical Britain’s population was decimated, losing too many of its best and brightest by three wars in less than 100 years. That didn’t justify blatant misuse of the force of law. The Ministry needed to do better.  

 

Severus was smug, arms full of his soft, deliciously responsive Queen.

 

Once the mask was off, would she forgive him for being Severus Snape?

 

Who was she?

  
  


**XLV**

 

Hermione Granger was not a patient witch and this was dragging too long. She wished McGonagall would bloody get on with it.

 

She wanted to jump over that fire, break the circle, and then drag him off to the woods.

 

The Ministry had released a review of the Magical Census. There were too few people, and chances were strong that British magic was going to die out in the next century. They intended to force people to marry strangers and have children.

 

Over her cold, dead body!

 

She’d found her own wizard, although the Goddess had given her a shove.

  
  


**XLVI**

 

The Queen squeaked charmingly when he hefted her up into his arms.

 

“Ready, my Lady?”

 

Wide eyed and smiling, she wrapped her arms about his neck. “Oh yes!” She was quite light; if he let go, she might float away. Lightening charm?

 

Heat rolled off of the huge bonfire, but there was little smoke. Across from them a shining woman waited on horseback, wavering like a mirage.

 

He backed up, preparing to jump. He could fly, but that would give him away.

 

Severus intended to woo this witch with every Slytherin wile he had.  

 

He wanted to win her heart.

  
  


**XLVII**

 

Leaping over a bonfire felt awfully risky, uncomfortably reminiscent of flying on a broomstick over fiendfyre during the Battle of Hogwarts. Uttering spells that reduced the burden of her weight, she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing.

 

There was no sulfuric brimstone.   

 

His powerful muscles wound up like a spring gathering strength beneath them. Her heart knocked about erratically in her chest as her senses strained. She was a Gryffindor.

 

Was the fire retardant charm effective? It wouldn’t do if he burned his feet.

 

Her eyes snapped open; too late to do anything but scream in terror. “EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

  
  


**XLVIII**

 

Hermione trembled in her mysterious man’s arms, clinging tightly even after they landed safely, nary a toe singed. Not trusting her voice, she leaned over and kissed her hero softly on the cheek.  

 

McGonagall appeared at their side, hissing: “Put her down!”

 

The Priest bowed low to the regal lady on the white horse. “My Queen.”

 

Hermione was eased to the ground, where she stood wide-eyed and silent.

 

Her wizard swept a courtly bow. He was dignified, comfortable in his near-nakedness. “Queen Mab, you honor us.”

 

Minerva McGonagall curtsied stiffly, one hand covertly gesturing to Hermione. She was pointing downward.

  
  


**XLIX**

 

Queen Mab. _The_ Queen of the Fey. Real! Oh, she’s so pretty. No wonder men lose their wits.  

 

Hermione’s brain gabbled in irrational circles.

 

Right, I’m supposed to curtsy like I’m meeting the Queen because I’m meeting the Queen!  

 

Muscle memory kicked in from the seven years of ballet and tap lessons her mother forced her through. Not bad.

 

Although she kept her head bowed, curiosity urged her to peek through her lashes.

 

The fey monarch met Hermione’s gaze with a knowing smile.

 

“Hail Queen and King of Summer! Rejoice and be glad. Blessings will be thrice bestowed on thee.”  

  
  


**L**

  
  


Hermione shied away from McGonagall’s flinty glare as the older witch approached them, opening her hand to the Green Man, palm up. 

 

“Have you a blade?” McGonagall asked.

 

Swiftly, he reached behind him and produced a sheathed knife, which then he slapped into McGonagall’s waiting grip. 

 

Puck took hold of the knife’s smooth handle. In a swift movement, he pulled the blade free,  revealing its irregular black edge of obsidian. 

 

Hermione recalled using such a blade. Incredibly sharp, useful for Potions. 

 

Puck’s voice boomed. “Merry meet, merry part, merry meet again!” Resheathing the knife, he added, “This rite is complete.” 


	9. LI-LVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written originally for the grangersnape100 Spring Fever Challenge, extended  
> Thanks to Havelocked for being a fantastic person!

LI

 

The crowd remained hushed after the circle was broken. Even the intoxicated looked on with slack-jawed awe, the rowdiest supplicants tamed by the sight of Queen Mab’s beauty.

 

_Rise, for tonight you are me and I am you. The fae are ambassadors to our court._

 

As she straightened a fog lifted from Hermione’s mind. Wits sharper, she knew what she must do. “If it please you, I offer refreshment to you and your company, although we have but simple fare.”

 

She smiled starlight. “It pleases us.”

 

Hermione summoned a honey-oat cake and broke bread with the Queen of the Fae.

  


LII

  


His Queen offered entertainment to the Fae royalty as though born to her role. He too should offer hospitality. His thoughts were slow, as though encased in treacle.

 

“How far have you travelled this night?”

 

“Underhill and over dell.” Puck’s tone suggested the answer was as plain as the smirk on his face.  “We purify the ley line as she travels its length, as you know, Wizard.”

 

Severus looked down, marking where the magical flow ought to run from memory. “Our fire is in your way?”

 

“Queen Mab shall pass through many trials tonight. We have been absent too long.”

  


LIII

 

The fae Queen’s smile as she handed back down the milk warmed Hermione’s heart. She had no fear as Mab laid a light hand over her painted brow.  

 

“Feed your husband well, for you two have a long, wondrous night before you. May the Goddess’ blessings extend to you both for a lifetime.”

 

A sharp needle of self-doubt pierced her chest. She was damaged. Unworthy of such things.

 

“Hush. The last fire you have to jump is of your own making. Let yourself be happy.”

 

The Queen swiped at the single tear trailing down Hermione’s face, eyes soft with knowing.

  


LIV

  


“We must keep moving, my Queens. Alas time moves differently here.”

 

Queen Mab shot Puck a sharp look, one tear-stained finger straying to her lips.

 

“Will you jump the fire?” Severus was curious about the magic they employed.

 

Puck snorted in derision.

 

Nickering softly, the white steed stepped toward the fire. “To jump would disrupt our work. We walk the line.”  The Queen of the Fae sneered in obvious distaste, as though the fire was foul.

 

His little Summer Queen squared off with the flames, gracefully falling into a duelling stance, wand raised to strike.

 

Severus hastened to her side.

 

LV

  


Hermione took to Pyromancy like the littlest pig’s house to fire. She’d gravitated towards it, from the moment she first cracked open her charms text to find Bluebell flames.

 

The Belinus ley line, Beltane Rites and the presence of three Queens - Mortal, Fae and Divine clicked. The vast potential she held within her flashed bright in her imagination.

 

Dare I?

 

The Goddess within her nodded permission. “ _I am with you, little one._ ”

 

Gathering her will, Hermione began to sing to the fire.

 

A baritone counterpoint wove its way about her melody, anchoring her as she passed deeper into the trance.

  


LVI

 

Who was this witch?

 

Severus’ magical senses shouted that the spell that she’d initiated was both unknown and dangerous.

 

Puck called out, “Oh, very good! I thought this knowledge lost!”

 

Unease grew within Severus. Swearing under his breath he observed her wand movements

swaying in a hypnotic pattern.

 

Women are, by nature, mysterious. Unpredictable. Frustration flared along with the flames. He had to do something, but what?

 

The God within him answered, “Lend her strength. Stay out of her way. Love her.”

 

Lips curling up in dark amusement, Severus undertook to chant the most elaborate magical “Yes Dear,” in history.


	10. LVII-LXIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written as an extension of the grangersnape100 Spring Fever Challenge.   
> Thanks to Havelocked for her beta love.   
> Additional thanks to everyone who's shared their reactions and thoughts with me! I'm having a blast. Comments are like cookies for writers, as are kudos.

LVII

 

Raging flames danced, curling wildly to lick at Hermione's magic as the spell she fashioned bent it to her will. 

 

A round gate took shape within the incandescent morass, a path formed by the tongues of flame receding from the ley line.  The bonfire split in twain. 

 

Gathering power, the air within disordered and the next bonfire could be seen as though through elemental omnioculars, leagues away. 

 

Hermione’s attention shifted to her partner’s anchoring counterpoint. He’d sent the excess power bleeding off of the fire deep into the earth, gathered into a well of delicious tension. 

 

Now to harness it... 

  
  


LVIII

  
  


Severus was sweating, irked and excited in equal measures. 

 

The sheer power that was shifting through his Queen’s hands was terrifying, and she’d spun the fire — chaotic and destructive into a portal. Fire magic had long been used for transportation - hell, look at the floo network - but he’d never seen this spell built from the embers up. 

 

A tendril of frizzy curl escaped his witch’s bound tresses. Bursts of magic crawled over her arms like strange little red spiders. 

 

He laboured at her back to channel her magic spillover away safely. 

 

Gods, she was so strong. So fucking beautiful. 

  
  
  


LIX

 

This tricky part had seemed so simple to her intellectually. Use the magical tension of the fire and the ley line to give speed to the Fae.

 

The problem was making sure that she didn’t get sucked in while she crafted the spell, yet she needed to maintain the chant until the gate was sealed. 

 

The fire wanted her, its pull insistent and seductive - growing in strength. 

 

Whatever her partner was doing behind her was gently tugging in the opposite direction. She needed more. 

 

Backing away from the gate, she sought the safe harbour of her husband’s body. 

 

_ Help me. _

  
  


LX

  
  


A change in flow brought Severus out of the meditative state he’d achieved first, which was lucky, because his Queen’s soft backside made contact with his forwardmost thigh.  

 

Puzzled, he reached out reflexively to support her hip with his free hand. She was obviously tense, trembling. 

 

Beads of sweat ran down her delicate neck.

 

Her small hand clutched at his and he perceived her problem at last. 

 

Worry entwined with irritation. If the daft witch had only discussed this beforehand!  

 

He laced his fingers with hers, pulling her close. He would be the anchor she needed. 

 

I have you, witch. 

  
  


LXI

 

She could have cried out with relief, but she needed to concentrate. Envisioning clearly her intention, she reached down into the roiling well of magic seated deep in the earth below.

 

If she had to describe what she was doing, the closest thing would have been carding wool. To coax the chaos to order and in turn wind it tightly to her will.  

 

As she worked she allowed herself to lean back against her mysterious Wizard. He was a solid presence, one she instinctively trusted. 

 

_ Just a little bit... Ah. There. _

 

The last piece of the spell snapped into place. 

  
  


LXII

  
  


Blinking, Severus’ senses struggled to refocus as the spell ended. A low growl of irritation was cut off by the troublesome slip of baggage crumpling, her weight leaning entirely upon him. 

 

“Are you alright?” 

 

When she didn’t answer, he sheathed his wand so that he could hold her more firmly. 

 

She was panting with exertion, and her eyes were bright with intelligence. She’d not fainted as he’d feared. In fact, she was smiling lopsidedly up at him. “Wow!” 

 

The remainder of his anger drained away. Clearing his throat, he moved to set her down. 

 

She stopped him with a kiss. 

  
  
  


LXIII

  
  


Hermione was elated, her heart bursting with the aftershocks of Pyromancy. She’d always gotten a high from working with fire, but the sheer scale of what they’d just accomplished left her breathless. 

 

She felt incredible. Alive with possibility. 

 

When her wizard gathered her up with ease, she didn’t object. At least, not until he tried to put her down.  _ Nope. _

 

His lips were soft with shock, she noted as claimed her victory kiss. He was quick on the uptake too, responding in kind.  

 

_ Husbands should be adaptable.  _

 

He tasted of mead, magic, and man. She savoured him with open mouth. 

 


	11. LXIV-LXIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for grangersnape100 Spring Fever challenge. 
> 
> Special thanks to Havelocked for her ongoing steady beta expertise. Toodleoo has, to my delight, also agreed to help out with the editing and has made suggestions for improvement that will likely ripple backwards. Nothing about the story itself should change but the clarity should improve. It is interesting to see how this has needed to evolve as I'd originally meant it to be a 5 drabble series and now we're up to 69. Gigglesnort!

**LXIV**

 

Time lost meaning. Severus’ world shifted upright on its axis, for _she_ was in his arms kissing him as he’d never been kissed before.

 

This wasn’t the greedy kiss of a witch using him for her own satisfaction. Nor was it the cold, seductive kiss of a huntress. He was no woman’s prey.

 

With her kiss, this Queen demanded nothing, yet she offered everything. She caressed him with sweet lips and talented tongue, painstakingly attentive in her adoration.

 

He felt wanted.

 

Safe.

 

Welcome.

 

Until Minerva boxed him in the ear. “Put her down!”

 

“Leave off, woman!” he yelped. “Gryffindor harpy.”  

  


**LXV**

 

One moment Hermione was kissing what might be her favourite pair of lips, and the next she and her paramour were under attack. He turned away, shielding her from McGonagall.

 

“If you hadn’t been so busy snogging for Queen and Country, you’d have heard me calling you!”

 

_Drat,_ Hermione thought. Why would Professor McGonagall interrupt _now_?

 

“Queen Mab wishes to speak with you, your _Highnesses_. She’s ready to depart.”

 

Squeezing his shoulder, Hermione whispered, “It’s alright.”

 

“It bloody well isn’t,” he growled.

 

She sighed in agreement as he set her down.

 

Hand in hand, they exchanged farewells with Queen Mab.

  


**LXVI**

  


The fairy delegation disappeared one by one, transforming into streaks of white light traveling south along the leyline.  

 

Hermione’s thoughts back gravitated to worldly concerns, such as the feel of his fingers laced with hers. Could he feel her pulse quicken?

 

His midnight eyes reflected the Beltane fires, smoldering. A subtle tension in his mouth warned her of Puck’s approach.

 

“As player and ambassador both

With honour I witnessed your oaths

Between earth, sun, and moon.

Should thou need’st a fairy boon

     You have but to knock on the earth thrice,

And I shall attend upon thee in a trice.”

  
  


**LXVII**

  


Such a boon was both wonderful and dangerous in the old lore. Like the djinns’ gifts, fairy favours gifted onto mortals were never without peril.

 

Severus despised Puck’s laughing eyes. His shoulders relaxed with relief as the fae turned away.  

 

Puck addressed the crowd.

“Good people, I take my leave.

But should some summer’s eve

Thy luckless hearts grieve,

Think of Robin Goodfellow and believe!

         We faeries have returned to mortal land

         Once more in fellowship we stand.”

The cheers from the crowd as Puck turned to go failed to muffle the witch. “Finally!” she muttered. “Ruddy cockblocker.”

 

Severus grinned.

  


**LXVIII**

  


Dread gripped Hermione as the fae swiveled to lock eyes with her.

 

_Shit_ , she thought. She’d said that aloud. _Shit_.

 

Puck slowly stepped backwards toward the gate. “May you both have a long and enlightening night.” Mischief brightened his sharp-toothed grin as he winked at her in a lewd gesture.

 

It sharpened her awareness of how dangerous he truly was. So many pointy teeth! Somewhere in the back of her mind, she regretted not being able to show this to her dad. He’d adored comparative anatomy.

 

Puck sketched a mocking bow in her direction and was gone with a flash.

  
  
  


**LXIX**

 

Severus was tempted to abscond with his Queen for some privacy. They were handfasted, an unplanned miracle. Did she understand what she’d consented to?

 

The circle was broken, the rite complete, and their unearthly company departed. They weren’t needed anymore.

 

The handle of his knife was shoved in his face, accompanied by McGonagall’s flinty glare.

 

“You’ve done quite enough, don’t you think?” Minerva asked, attempting to pull the witch away.

 

Dodging, his counterpart clung to him, her grip firm.  

 

Reclaiming his obsidian knife, he ignored Minerva. “Are you thirsty, my Queen?”

 

“Parched.”

 

To Severus, a sweeter word was never spoken.

 

 


	12. LXX-LXXVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the grangersnape100 Spring Fever Challenge. 
> 
> My Betas, Havelocked and Toodleoo, are the reasons this looks so good. Thanks for helping me better myself! (ps--I used commas and a dash, hopefully correctly!) 
> 
> A huge thank you to readers like you. The kudos and comments really are lovely and brighten my day. I'm thrilled that this piece continues to entertain!

 

**LXX**

The Queen and King of May were surrounded by a vanguard of white-painted witches brandishing staves like foreshortened weapons. Shadows thrown by the fire highlighted their grace as they wove about. Their silk dresses were translucent, made more so by the sweat of their exertion. 

The Red Men, a second group of scantily clad dancers with skin painted red from head to toe, provided a distinct contrast to the White Ladies. These wizards juggled mage fire while shouting lewd comments to the onlookers for the merriment of all. 

The crowd hooted with delight whenever a White Lady scored a hit.

 

 **LXXI**

Amongst the chaos, a company of Blue Men transfigured the altar into a double throne, draping it with plush cushions of green, yellow and red. 

McGonagall approached George, a furtive hunch to her shoulders. She lowered her voice. “I don’t know what to do about this, Mr Weasley.”

George grimaced. He’d arranged refreshment for Snape and Hermione and was about to call them over for a kip. “Aren’t we supposed to trust in magic and let things fall where they would?”

“They bonded themselves together in complete ignorance. Married for a year and a day!”

George groaned. “We’re so dead.” 

 

 **LXXII**

Hermione was abruptly shy. 

She’d forgotten how many people were there watching for she was caught up in the magic of the ceremony. Now, reality was beating back upon her with full force. 

She and her wizard were surrounded by a wall of people who she only faintly recognised under their full body paint. Her body zinged with excitement, aftershocks of her magical exertion starting to register. 

George’s call drew Hermione’s attention. “Your Divine Majesties, your throne, if it pleases you?”

Her weary feet throbbed in longing at the prospect. 

“Come on, then.” Hermione reclaimed her king’s reassuringly solid hand.

 

**LXXIII**

Plotting to slake his queen’s thirst was a pleasant preoccupation. 

_Would my queen,_ Severus wondered, _prefer mead, tea, or me?_

His train of thought jostled off track at the resurgence of a low drum beat. He registered Minerva’s stiff-backed retreat amongst a flood of painted celebrants passing close. 

His little witch towed him forward through the gate she’d made through the bonfire. Her glances were sweet, even approving.

He basked in the heat of her regard, distinct from the physical fire they traversed together.

Would she still be pleased with him come dawn, when the fires were nought but ash? 

 

 **LXXIV**

Hermione could not unsee George, in all of his blue-skinned glory, as a Smurf. “Which one are you?” she asked him. “Brainy? Of course! You’re Jokey Smurf!” 

When he didn’t laugh, Hermione wondered what was off. Was it the animalistic attractiveness of her wizard? She’d not thought George bent that way, but who’d blame him! 

“A Smurf? Like those Muggle dwarves?” George said. He pointed at her wizard. “If I’m Jokey, he’s Grumpy.” 

Her husband’s lip curled in derision. He growled, a low, visceral sound. 

The ginger’s charmed blue skin blanched to white. 

She laughed. “Are you blind? He’s Sexy!” 

 

 **LXXV**

Severus closed his eyes, shutting out Weasley. If he was king for the night, why should he put up with this fool? _Right, he thought. I am trying to be civilised._ A growl of frustration escaped him.

“… blind? He’s Sexy!” 

His eyes snapped open. The May Queen was looking up at him in open adoration. 

She winked at him before turning to point her wand at Weasley, who was choking. _“Anapneo!”_

A gob of spit flew out of the idiot, into the fire. “Blimey! Thanks, H…” 

Severus’ head whipped towards Weasley, his senses instantly alert. 

Hastily, she interrupted, _“Silencio!”_

 

**LXXVI**

Hermione’s gut spasmed in relief. A near-miss. George had almost exposed her identity. 

So many wizards believed they knew her _so well_ from the tripe Skeeter published. Just this once she wanted a chance to be herself, free of her infamous history. She’d reveal all later. 

“Toddle off, George.” She waved her hand in mock-royal permission. 

He made a rude two-fingered gesture at her before stomping away.

Turning back to her tall, dark, and handsome man, she was pleased to see him smiling down at her crookedly. She stretched up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Where were we?”


	13. LXXVII-LXXXIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Started as a quintet for grangersnape100’s Spring Fever challenge on LJ and grew from there. 
> 
> Special thank you’s to Havelocked and Toodleoo who both went through this three times. I am two times thrice blessed. :) 
> 
> Big hugs to everyone who’s taken a moment to comment. The comments make me feel all warm and fuzzy and I look forwards to hearing from you all. 
> 
> A big salute to Ouatic7 who did me a solid and brought my attention to a few points for correction. Thank you!

#   **  
**

**LXXVII**

 

Her hot breath on his ear eroded his tenuous control. Before he got carried away by the force of his desire, he needed to get a grip. He was going to woo this witch thoroughly. 

 

Worship her. 

 

A quick tumble would not be enough. 

 

After her display of pyromancy, he’d hoped that he’d found a peer. What sort of mind hid beneath that crown of curls and flowers? 

 

He wanted to know her better.

 

“Hullo, there. You, in blue! My Queen requires a drink!” Severus’ voice dropped, heavy with meaning. “She is quite... thirsty.” 

 

Her lips parted enticingly, “Oh, yes.” 

 

 

 

**LXXVIII**

 

Hermione had been asked a simple question, but her heart shouted  _ Yes!  _ to so many others left unspoken. Her rational mind would later analyze this night, inspecting every word uttered and savouring every nuance. It was useful to possess an eidetic memory. 

 

The way he looked at her was thrilling. That voice turned her knees to jelly.  His manners charmed her as he guided her to claim the throne of her office. 

 

Her heart melted when he pulled her feet into his lap, and after checking for her nod of approval, he began to massage away her soreness and fatigue. 

  
  


**LXXIX**

 

Severus Snape was an observant man. 

 

At first he’d thought she was dizzied by the pageantry and noise, or perhaps fatigued from the magic she’d spent so freely earlier. She’d wavered part of the way through the fire, her grip on his hand tightening briefly. 

 

Then he saw it. She was favouring her left foot. He could help her with that, gladly.

 

Sitting her down, he pulled her feet into his lap. After a cursory exam, he discovered she was amusingly ticklish.

 

Further study determined that when he pressed just so she purred. 

 

Cat-like, she watched him with heavy-lidded languor.  

  
  


**LXXX**

 

Drifting upon the delicious sensations that this incredible wizard evoked with his hands, Hermione studied the May King’s profile as he nodded thanks to the blue attendant who left two goblets. 

 

His features were not classically handsome, for his chin was weak and pointed, accentuating the thinness of his face. The nose and brow were obscured by a half-mask, affixed quite firmly by the curved satyr’s horns sprouting from his temples. 

 

His ebony hair was left long in the style wizards of a certain generation prefered. 

 

Intuition gnawed at her thoughts, pricked to sharper focus. 

 

Did she already know him? 

  
  
  


**LXXXI**

 

Those talented fingers halted in their tension-melting progress along the arch of Hermione’s foot. She made a moue of protest as he stood, setting her feet to the side. 

 

“I shall return in but a moment, my Lady.”  

 

At Beltane it was customary to build two fires through which livestock were driven in hope of blessings for abundance.

 

A growing line of people waited to walk through the divided fire. An old man toddled through painfully slowly, creating a bottleneck. 

 

Her irritation quickly evaporated as her king offered the gaffer his arm. Squinting, she recognised Mr Filch carrying Mrs Norris. 

  
  


**LXXXII**

 

Moved by Mr Filch’s attempt at stoicism, Hermione stood, beckoning.  “Please,” she said. “Join us for a blessing and a moment’s ease.” 

 

The man’s frailty was evident in the hesitance of his steps.  “Oh, no, I couldn’t impose. Tonight is for you young people. I only meant to walk the fire.” 

 

He was interrupted as the May King firmly drew him down onto the cushions. “We insist, Argus. Visit with us for a moment.” 

 

Hermione was surprised. Her wizard knew the caretaker well enough to address him by first name! 

 

“You’re too kind. What of your lady?” Mr Filch asked. 

  
  


**LXXXIII**

 

“Oh, don’t worry about me, sir,” Hermione insisted. 

 

Uneasily, she catalogued the signs of advanced age in Mrs Norris. There was white about her muzzle and her coat was dull. She’d always been as thin as a stray, but she’d lost too much weight, much like her master. 

 

“You are a queen and should not be left standing. It isn’t proper!” Mr Filch said, visibly upset. 

 

She squeaked when a pair of strong arms pulled her down again, this time directly onto his lap. 

 

“There now,” her new husband said, holding her securely about her waist. “Propriety is properly observed.” 

 


	14. LXXXIV-XC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for grangersnape100's Spring Fever Challenge. 
> 
> Thanks go out to Havelocked and toodleoo for their beta expertise in moulding this into better work. 
> 
> I am going to upgrade the rating on this work to E from M to be safe. Hope that's cool with everyone. Heartfelt thanks also go out to readers like you and special love to those who take the time to leave a comment.

**LXXXIV**

 

Spluttering, Hermione shifted her weight on his lap, her reaction divided between arousal and indignity. “What propriety!?”

 

“A queen must have her throne, so I volunteered,” her king said. “Don’t you approve?”

 

“I doubt your motives, sir.”

 

“Allow me to clarify.”

 

Hermione was tilted backwards, supported only by his arms. He lowered his face and inhaled deeply—ostensibly of the flowers wreathing her brow. He spoke lowly, “I would offer you another seat, my Queen.”

 

Her hands slid up his bare chest to grasp his shoulders. “What?”

 

“My lips would provide a fine repose. I long to taste your sweet nectar.”

  


**LXXXV**

 

 _Did he just offer her cunnilingus?_ Hermione’s mouth went slack in shock.

 

He chuckled, “Have I rendered you mute, my enchantress?”

 

Blushing, Hermione wriggled in his lap. “Your manners confuse me. What sort of gentleman would offer a lady a drink, and in turn—knowing she thirsts, do nothing to relieve her? Instead, you taunt me, making me long for more! I cry foul.”

 

”I am no gentleman.” Wandlessly he summoned a metal goblet. Cocking his head in mute salute, he toasted her before taking a long sip.

 

”Why, _you_...!”

 

He silenced her with an intoxicating kiss, redolent of sweet wine.

  


**LXXXVI**

 

Hermione had kissed a few frogs in her brief life.

 

Viktor Krum kissed politely.  She’d expected the Quidditch star to exhibit confidence, or at least some enthusiasm.

 

Mongrel was a better word for Ron, her most serious ex-boyfriend, a straying braggart with a terrier for a Patronus. His kisses were too wet, slobbery. She wondered if he was trying to digest her. Worse, he was selfish, and made no effort to improve.

 

But this…

 

She’d not _dreamt_ kissing could be this good.

 

Relaxing into the embrace of her Goddess-given lover, Hermione let herself explore his mouth with lips and tongue.

  


**LXXXVII**

 

This wizard was as different to the boys she’d known as night was to day. It was easy to kiss him. She discovered there was a rhythm to kissing that she’d never known before, a partnership as beautiful as dancing.

 

He was as graceful with his lips as he’d exhibited circling the fire, when she first saw him. There was no awkwardness such as knocking noses or teeth. He used his nose to tenderly nuzzle hers, allowing them both to catch their breath.

 

Her husband was patient. Attentive. Gentle.

 

He made her tingle all the way down to her toes.

  


**LXXXVIII**

 

Hermione had a massive dilemma. While the current position in his lap was lovely, her neck was starting to tire. Experimentally, she shifted her bum, trying to maneuver upright, managing to press her thigh into the man’s crotch. He gasped at the contact, breaking off the kiss.

 

“Oh, sorry! Are you alright?” She shifted her weight, worrying that she’d ruined the moment.

 

Panting, he laughed, “I’m better than alright, witch. Adequate, I’d say.”

 

“Adequate?! I’ve never earned less than an E in my life.” Hermione couldn’t hide her indignation. What nerve!  

 

Slyly, he suggested, “Shall I offer you extra credit?”

  


**LXXXIX**

 

Severus inwardly chastised himself. Trying to be clever, he’d slipped.

 

Was she as ignorant of his identity as he was of hers? He’d most likely taught her in some capacity during her education, if he judged her age correctly.

 

Poppy had asserted that most of the eligible witches throughout Britannia had been his students. Avoiding former students narrowed his chances at love, severely so.

 

She’d been silent too long. A Ravenclaw, perhaps, using her wits?

 

White paint couldn’t hide the enchanting blush that bloomed upwards from her bosom. Everything about her was sublime.

 

Hope burned painfully bright within his soul.

  
  
  


**XC**

 

That voice.

 

She tried to tell herself that she imagined it, that surely it could not be.

 

Hermione pulled back in order to get a better view of her mystery man’s masked face and looked intently, straight into a pair of obsidian black eyes.

 

_Fuck._

 

The memory of Professor McGonagall glaring at them came back to the front of her mind. She tried interrupting, even demanded that he unhand her.

 

_It’s him._

 

A wave of heat washed over her; not the flush of pleasure she was due, but one of earth-shattering revelation.

 

_Gods! I’m sitting on Professor Snape’s lap!_

  



	15. XCI-XCVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for grangersnape100 Spring Fever challenge. 
> 
> Thanks to havelocked and toodleoo for their beta expertise. They make my writing so much nicer. <3 
> 
> A special thanks also to readers like you. I understand the need to see these two to get to werk, but we have a few things to deal with. Thanks for your patience and enthusiasm! (I promise I'm not drawing things out for no reason).

**XCI**

 

Hermione’s mind exploded. Her husband, Hero of the Realm and one professor she’d always failed to impress, was offering her extra credit.

 

Assignment: Get an O from Snape, May King, avatar of the Celtic god of Summer. Essentially… a sex God.

 

It made some sense. His kisses ensnared her senses and bewitched her mind thoroughly.

 

”How many inches”— _steady girl,_ she thought to herself, _don’t giggle—_ “do you suggest I inscribe in order to win top marks?”

 

Hermione pulled the goblet away from his long fingers and drank deeply.

 

_Don’t think of the inches hidden under his kilt._

 

_Or O’s._

 

 

**XCII**

 

Having drained the goblet dry, Hermione held onto it tightly. It was easier than resting her hands somewhere dangerous.

 

Leaning back, Snape tapped a finger to his lips in a parody of deep contemplation. “For top marks, I think a concrete demonstration would be appropriate.”

 

“What do you have in mind?” Hermione watched avidly.

 

His mouth twisted wryly. “A thousand kisses buys my heart from me; pay them at thy leisure, one by one.” *  

 

“That’s approximately 2.73 kisses a day, if the assignment’s deadline is defined by our handfasting. Fitting.” Catching his stare, she supplied, “It’s sidereal.  Cerridwen’s Constant.” **

 

*Shakespeare, _Venus and Adonis._

**Sidereal, related to the stars.   


 

**XCIII**

 

Silence stretched out between them.

 

Anonymity afforded her time and space in which to think. Hermione needed her disguise to last, a scant millimetre of zinc oxide held in place by sheer force of will.

 

As those with guilty consciences are apt to do, she babbled. “Arithmancy is one of my passions. Did you know that Cerridwen’s Constant rules both natural mysteries and magical?”

 

Snape spoke, eyes glittering. “Is magic unnatural, then?”

 

Mr Filch’s dry laugh intruded on her growing panic. “Madam Pomfrey was right; you two are birds of a feather. Never thought I’d live to see such miracles.”

  


**XCIV**

 

“That reminds me.” Handing the goblet to her husband with a smile, Hermione stood, removing herself from the proximity of his intensity. They could debate later.

 

She bent over to examine Mrs Norris, catching her lip in her teeth. Too placid to be healthy, Hermione felt a pang of grief, echoes of future loss. She reached out tentative fingers, “May I?”

 

Mr Filch’s rheumy eyes widened, but he nodded permission.

 

“Goddess of the growing green, extend your cloak over our friends. With your tears, heal that which may be mended.” Hermione touched the cat’s head, and felt the power flow.

  


**XCV**

 

Severus reluctantly allowed her slip out of his lap. Her smile eased his anxiety but very little.

 

He still believed that she was sorted into Ravenclaw. Arithmancy, the drive for academic achievement. Half-blood or Muggleborn.

 

Certainly the women of the houses that might fit these characteristics.

 

Minerva did take exception to his man-handling. A favourite in transfiguration, perhaps? Or, a former Head Girl.

 

As he watched her speak quietly with Argus, he admired her poise. She possessed a certain confidence; an independence of thought that many might find off-putting.

 

She’d need fortitude to survive both his wits and his moods.

  


**XCVI**

 

A soft meow drew Severus’ attention. Mrs Norris shone from within _—_ her whole being, not just her eyes. Her fur rippled with the power of the magic.

 

Quickly, before the magic set, Severus uttered a magesight charm, allowing him to observe the May Queen’s casting.

 

A column of power climbed from deep within the earth to join her heartbeat, pulsing brightly within her. Threads of blessing flowed from her fingers.

 

The real miracle was the binding magic encircling her dainty wrist.

 

Ardent yearning tugged at his heart, for he wanted this above all:  to love and be loved in return.

  


**XCVII**

  


“Oh, thank you, miss.  _ Thank you. _ ” Mr Filch caught the Queen’s hand and brought it to his lips, his expression of wonder smoothing away years of strain. 

 

A light, crystalline laugh preceded her reply. “Think nothing of it. You’ve always taken such good care of all of us.” 

 

His eyes bright with emotion, he let go of her hand and ducked his head to coo at his cat. “Shall we find a fine bit of fish, my love?” 

 

Mr Filch wandered away, showering his fuzzy companion with kisses. 

 

Amusement rippling her voice, she whispered, “I wonder, does he get hairballs?” 


	16. XCVIII-CIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for grangersnape100's Spring Fever challenge. It started as 500 words and has grown to much much more.
> 
> Thanks to havelocked for her beta expertise, as well as toodleoo who just had her birthday this week! Happy birthday. :) 
> 
> A special thanks for the support of readers like you! Your comments are delightful and I would love to have a cuppa and chat with every one of you. I'll have to settle for sending virtual hugs and exchanging comments.

**XCVIII**

 

Hermione stood dazedly watching the ebb and flow of the crowd. Music played a lively undercurrent to her people’s joyful laughter. 

 

Stymied, Hermione considered her dilemma. She’d done her duty. Finished the ceremony. 

 

_ I could just make an excuse and leave _ , she thought. 

 

**_Why?_ ** _ asked the Goddess’s voice. _

 

_ Professor Snape and I share a fraught history. He will be terribly angry when he discovers I am… myself.  _

 

**_Only if he believes you were insincere in speaking your oaths._ **

 

_ He deserves better than subterfuge and lies. He suffered and nearly died alone. I witnessed it all.   _

 

**_He wants to be loved._ **

  
  


**XCIX**

  
  


Sorrow smothered the embers of Hermione’s ardour under the ashes of their shared history.  

 

**_Wouldst thou reject thy husband?_ ** asked the Goddess.

 

_No! I’d never intentionally hurt him._ Hermione declared _._ _I could truly grow to love Severus._

 

**_My will is your will. I called and you answered, Hermione._ **

 

_ Gladly! _

 

**_You do not desire children?_ **

 

Her heart thrilled at the possibility. 

 

_ I want a baby. To be a mother.  _

 

Intending to thwart the ministry, she’d intentionally stopped her contraceptives. Per her original plan, any sperm donor would have sufficed. 

 

_ Now I want only Severus.  _

 

**_He is bound to you. Claim him._ **

  
  


**C**

  
  


Hermione’s throat tightened with a knot of guilt. 

 

_ He hasn’t agreed to fatherhood.  _

 

Fortunes which at first appear too good to be true usually prove false. Nothing was ever as it seemed and tonight her disguise made her no exception.

 

When he jumped the fire with her he didn’t know she was Hermione Granger, Insufferable Know-It-All. 

 

_ What have I done? He’ll hate me. _

 

The Goddess’ voice, sharp with irritation, slashed through the sticky strands of Hermione’s web of doubt. 

 

**_He isn’t feeble-minded. Surely he’s worked out that sex creates babies, Hermione._ **

 

She blushed, affronted.  _ Don’t be ridiculous!  _

 

**_Cauldron, meet kettle._ **

  
  
  
  


**CI**

 

Hermione absentmindedly rubbed her freshly healed forearm, wondering what Severus was thinking. It was difficult enough for her to let go of her own scepticism. 

 

He’d been so worried after the binding.  _ Was his Dark Mark healed too? _

 

**_Darling girl, you bless one another. The mark of the God is on his heart, as is mine upon yours. Have a little faith in him and in Us._ ** The Goddess’ voice was warm with affection.

 

She desperately wanted it to be true. 

 

**_It is true! Open yourself to happiness._ **

 

_ Yes! I want all of this. Of him. _

 

**_You have Our Blessing._ **

  
  


**CII**

 

The world came back into focus and Hermione knew what to do. 

 

She smoothed her fingers over the sheer fabric of her scandalous dress, belted by colourful braided ribbons at her waist. She’d never felt sexier in her life. 

 

Squaring her shoulders, she turned to find Severus reclining on their throne. 

 

A thrill of empowerment electrified her as his eyes latched onto her breasts, coincidentally located at his eye-level.

 

She insinuated herself between Severus and their tray of food, basking in the heat of his desire. Other appetites needed their attention first. 

 

“Tsk. My eyes are up here, my Lord.”  

  
  
  


**CIII**

 

Severus was lost in thought when his Lady returned to him and thus he was caught completely off guard by the revelation of her perfect tits, right at eye level. 

 

Though small by lesser men’s standards, her breasts complemented his witch’s petite frame. His palms itched to take their measure. 

 

He tore his eyes away to find her smiling; brown eyes warm and welcoming. 

 

With a playful tilt of her head, she twisted away, brushing against his leg. A moment later she offered up a bit of cake, her fingers dripping with honey. 

 

“Would you like a bite, my Lord?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: For those interested - Slow progress has started to gain momentum on the last extra chapter of Wake Me Up. It is tough to write a party/bar scene when your principles are dedicated introverts. They were fighting me every bit of the way until I realised that my awkwardness was their awkwardness and things are as they should be. LOL. Anyway. Love!


	17. CIV-CX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit later than I'd hoped. I've been under the weather and getting killed at work. 
> 
> Beta-credit goes to Havelocked, Toodleoo, and deweydecimateher (who kindly offered to help me out!). Thank you all three! You help me see with new eyes and make me better. 
> 
> A special thanks to readers like you! I adore your comments.

 

**CIV**

 

Avatar of the God he might be, but Severus was still a man. A nearly naked young woman was looking at him as though he’d made the stars shine. 

 

Next, she presented to him her pretty fingers covered in honey (incidentally holding a bit of cake) and honestly — Merlin himself couldn’t have resisted such temptation. 

 

“Have my cake and eat you too?” He leaned forward, adding, “Don’t mind if I do.” He parted his lips, ready for her. 

 

Waiting eagerly, he feasted his eyes on the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, her breath coming in quick sighs. 

  


**CV**

 

Time moved slowly as his witch closed the distance between them, popping the cake into his mouth. Before she could withdraw he captured her hand in a gentle grip, taking her fingers deeper into his mouth, licking the honey away clean.

 

The tip of her pink tongue darted out, wetting her lips. “My Lord.” Her jaw tightened, holding back a moan, a sound of pleasure denied to him. 

 

His hungry mouth progressed from her fingertips to the palm of her unresisting hand, following the trail of honey which dribbled obligingly all the way to her sweet wrist. “You are delicious.” 

  


**CVI**

 

Severus’ lust intensified as his mysterious lover squirmed delightfully against his side. 

 

“Husband!” Her voice had a sharp edge to it, to which he paid little mind. 

 

“Hmm?” He’d given up all pretence of licking away the honey and was kissing his way up her inner arm. He savoured her scent: violets mixed with the unmistakable tang of womanly arousal. 

 

Her breaths were feather-light over his shoulder as she chided, “You need to… eat.” 

 

His hand placed guiding pressure on her hip, encouraging her to sit in his lap. 

 

She pulled away with a spark of defiance. “Queen Mab insisted.” 

  


**CVII**

 

Severus snorted. “Queen Mab commands us?” _Bossy little witch._ “To what purpose?” 

 

“I am to make certain you are properly fed.” She presented another bit of cake, smiling sweetly. “You will need your strength tonight.” 

 

Severus swayed under a wave of desire and a guttural moan rose from deep within his chest. He felt his self-discipline slipping at her thinly-veiled invitation. 

 

Another piece of cake stole past his parted lips, her fingers darting too quickly to catch.

 

Just as the blood began to flow back into his brain, she mercilessly pounded her point home. “We have so much to do.” 

  


**CVIII**

 

When he found his voice once more, he growled in complaint. “Wife.”

 

“Yes, husband?” Hermione was regaining control, her breathing slowed. 

 

“This arrangement is too one-sided.” He passed her a goblet of mead. “It needs to be reciprocal, for I too have many plans for you.” 

 

Her face heated under the intensity of his dark eyes, caught off guard. Men didn’t ordinarily flirt with her. 

 

Perhaps it was a puckish humour that prompted him to comment: “After all, it would not do for you to faint in the throes of passion.” 

 

He caught her precisely mid-swallow, making her splutter everywhere.  

  


**CIX**

 

Spluttering, Hermione fought to regain her balance in the face of his expert seduction. 

 

What if her inexperience disappointed him? She was neither virgin nor Madonna. 

 

She popped some cake into her own mouth, a bid for time. 

 

_ Focus on your goal. Get to the point. _

 

Tilting her head, she remarked, “You are quite confident. I suppose that as a hero you’ve reaped the well-deserved rewards of your valour?” 

 

Her wizard froze. Before he could say anything she captured his left hand, bringing his miraculously unmarked flesh to her lips, kissing that exact spot. 

 

“I am a lucky witch, Severus.” 

 

 

**CX**

 

Hermione glowed in triumph for she’d rendered her husband speechless. 

 

_Now for the red cape. Olé_ _!_

 

She released Severus’ arm with an exaggerated sigh of regret. “Before we finish what we’ve started, before I fall even deeper in love with you, you must guess my secret.”

 

“You have an advantage.” A frown twisted her bullheaded wizard’s lips. 

 

Quickly, she lifted a finger to stop his speech. “Shall we play a game?” 

 

Severus purred encouragement. “What sort of… game?” His hand ghosted lightly up her thigh. 

 

Electrified icicles ran up her spine in a frisson of pleasure. 

 

_Goddess lend me strength._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. What sort of game could she have in mind?


	18. CXI-CXVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written as an extension of the grangersnape100 Spring Fever Challenge. 
> 
> Thanks to Toodleoo and deweydecimateher for their enthusiasm and beta assistance on this chapter. :) 
> 
> My sincere thanks to readers like you. Kudos and particularly your comments really brighten my day. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

**CXI**

 

Hermione worked to think fast, a difficult task as Severus’ hand stroking her leg was delightfully distracting.  _ Breathe.  _

 

“Two truths and a lie. We take turns. For example: Potions wasn’t my favourite class. I served detention only once. I love Quidditch.”  

 

The hand stilled and she felt the full weight of his regard pressing upon her. 

 

Determined not to give away any clues, she allowed her attention to drift to the noise from the revellers nearby. Her lower lip slipped between her teeth, a bad habit she’d not been able to break. 

 

“What do I win if I guess correctly?” 

  
  


**CXII**

 

Hermione snorted. Of course the consummate Slytherin wanted to know what was in this for him. “Information,  _ obviously. _ ” 

 

“And if I fail to detect the falsehood?” His fingers squeezed her leg, making her jump. 

 

“Then you have less information.” She wriggled suggestively against him. “I do hope you don’t take all night, husband.” 

 

His lips curved upward in a confident smirk. “Your first statement is meant to set me off guard, so it is likely true. The second is quite specific and the last, suspiciously banal.” 

 

Hermione leaned back, giving her wizard room to work. 

 

“You do not love Quidditch.”  

  
  


**CXIII**

 

“Just so. Your turn!” His witch clasped her hands together, drawing his eyes back to her breasts.  _ Down, Severus. _

 

“I speak four languages, I prefer coffee over tea, and my favourite colour is pink.”

 

She grinned brightly. “You could be a polyglot. Did you invent a charm for that?” 

 

Severus made no response, idly tracing a circle on her thigh. 

 

“I’ve seen you take coffee in the morning. Your favourite colour? I’d expect black or green. Too easy.” 

 

He held back, waiting. 

A curl escaped its confinement as she shook off the red herring. “You speak more than four languages!” 

  
  


**CXIV**

 

The God’s laugh shone through Severus’ fog of consternation, its heat simultaneously burning and comforting him, reminiscent of a stone soaked by the summer sun. 

 

**_I like this one. She understands the chase._ **

 

Severus recognised his God, surprised he was still present.  _ I could throw her over my shoulder and carry her off. Hang the chase. _

 

**_She isn’t that sort of woman, lad._ **

 

No, she wasn’t.  _ Damnation.  _

 

She leaned toward him with open admiration, waiting. 

 

“Correct.” He rolled the R, drawing the word out. 

 

She lit up with pleasure, clapping her hands. “How many, then? Go on. Impress me!” 

 

“Eight.” 

  
  


**CXV**

 

“Eight! I’ve four myself. I only read and write Greek, but I’m not fluent yet.” Severus watched her sweet mouth purse in modest self-censure.  

 

In a casual tone Severus said, “That’s quite an accomplishment for someone your age. What are you, 21?” 

 

She opened her mouth to answer, but she stopped herself with a furrowed brow. “Clever. I almost fell for it.”  

 

Severus waved her objection away. “Proceed.” 

 

She closed her eyes as she formulated her truths and lies. 

 

While his witch was distracted, he tried to picture her face over a steaming cauldron.

 

_ Who was under that white makeup? _

  
  


**CXVI**

 

Hermione’s heart raced in exhilaration. The clues that flew to her mind were too obvious, for she intended to coax him, give only a hint. He was brilliant—she was amazed that he hadn’t discovered her secret already.

 

Ready now, she met Severus’ gaze. He was staring at her with rapt attention. His magnetism was so intense that she had to look away at once, not wanting to become distracted. 

 

“I am terrible at logic puzzles. All of my boyfriends were Quidditch players. My favourite colour is red.” 

 

Her fingers occupied themselves with braiding the silk ribbons falling from her waist. 

  
  


**CXVII**

 

“Ridiculous!” said Severus. 

 

The negativity of his reaction hit Hermione in the gut, and she winced.   _ Don’t be angry. _

 

After a pause, he continued pensively. “You hate Quidditch, so why date a player?” 

 

Relief flooded her, and she inhaled deeply. “Sorry, but you are incorrect. My turn again.”

 

Scowling, he pressed her for more information. “So you prefer the colour blue? Or bronze?” 

 

Hermione suppressed a giggle. “Wrong again! I am quite good at logic puzzles. I beat yours.” When she realised what she’d said, her hand flew to her mouth in dismay. 

 

Severus’ scowl melted into a neutral mask.


	19. CXVIII-CXXV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the grangersnape100 Spring Fever Challenge. 
> 
> Thanks to Toodleoo, Havelocked, and deweydecimateher for their beta support. :)
> 
> Sorry for the long wait, folks. I appreciate you staying along with me! The draft for the next chapter is already written. I have been re-rewriting a lot as this was built on the foundation of 500 words, not planned to be the story it has become (thanks to all of you and your support!) I have not posted the new versions yet as I want to get everything straight before it's put to press. There's a prologue coming (not in drabbles), and the first chapter is expanded, just to give you all a sense. 
> 
> I deeply appreciate every comment, every kudo, and every hit. Thanks for being such a great audience! Love and kisses!
> 
> PS: I know these 'chapters' are short and I can understand people's disappointment but the length is intentional. I've written chapters as long as 10K before! The challenge here is for me to make a drabble series, not just a succession of chapters. I am working on improving my writing chops. Harder than it looks!

**CXVIII**

 

If a bomb were to explode under his nose at that moment, Severus wouldn’t have noticed. 

 

He’d authored a logic puzzle on only one occasion. 

 

_ Fuck! _

 

A memory, long suppressed, washed over him. 

 

_ Severus waited to examine the loathsome brat. He and his friends had achieved what had to be the most stupid stunt ever undertaken by first-year students. He eavesdropped as Albus questioned the child. Potter claimed to have faced the Dark Lord. The so-called Marauders fell short in comparison to this Gryffindor’s audacity. _

 

_ “...Hermione solved that potions puzzle. Only took her about forty seconds.”  _

 

It couldn’t be true.

  
  


**CXIX**

 

The air vanished from Severus’ lungs and his heart went colder than a dead toad. His vision blurred and sound held no meaning. Everything went numb.

 

Maybe his soul tried to Disapparate, leaving behind a spirit-splinched husk?

 

The May Queen—his  _ wife _ —was none other than Hermione Granger. 

 

It had been in front of him the whole time. Her insatiable need to succeed, to get the best grades.  _ “Never anything less than an E,” _ she’d said.  Her ignorance of pure-blooded magical dogma. Quidditch players as boyfriends but hating the game. Minerva’s wrath. 

 

Why did it feel so right? 

 

He was completely fucked. 

  
  


**CXX**

 

Severus’  _ wife _ , Hermione Granger,  sat beside him wide-eyed with one hand clapped over her mouth. She was probably holding her breath, waiting for his infamous temper to break.  

 

Threads of implication, hidden agendas and tendrils of manipulation twisted together into a complicated rope with which he battened down his feelings in the name of self-preservation.

 

The May Queen’s identity had been a closely guarded secret. Rumours implied she was hand-selected by the Ministry. 

 

He  _ hated  _ surprises. This was planned, an expected surprise of a temporary nature. Not  _ handfasted for a year and a day. _

 

Could their marriage work?  _ Should it _ ?  

  
  


**CXXI**

 

Severus could see through her disguise now, as clear as the pert nose on her face.

 

He’d never really noticed the warmth of the colour of her eyes before. If they’d been narrowed in irritation or suspicion, he’d have recognised her sooner. 

 

Her ridiculous riot of curls masquerading as hair was bound up into a twist held in check by the blooming crown of flowers and spellwork. 

 

Was Miss Granger as well versed as he was in the meaning of flowers?  

 

Forsythia.  _ Anticipation _ . 

Apple Blossom.  _ Fertility.  _

White Heather.  _ Dreams made true. _

 

_ Merlin, she’s beautiful _ , he thought. 

 

When did that happen?

  
  


**CXXII**

 

Severus had many questions. Had she known who he was beforehand? Equally disturbing, had she blindly bound herself in a magical handfasting to a stranger? 

 

Scraps of Granger-gossip came back to Severus. She’d been unsuccessful in her social life, a late bloomer whose fame assured that every misstep was broadcast for all of the Wizarding world’s amusement. 

 

Her relationship with Ronald Weasley failed to last after the war. Frankly, Severus hadn’t thought Ronald Weasley was worthy of her. 

 

Severus cringed as he analyzed his own potential as a husband. He was old, ugly and unpleasant.

 

_ I’m not good enough, either.  _

  
  


**CXXIII**

 

**_Slow down, son. Think this through._ ** The God spoke directly into Severus’ mind. It was becoming a habit.

 

_ She likes Quidditch Players.  _

 

Severus could fly unassisted. That was close, right? He never played Quidditch outside of alumni games once a year. Where was his old uniform? 

 

_ She craves knowledge. _

 

He could see himself searching for obscure manuscripts with Hermione. Quiet afternoon teas with stimulating conversation. Would she enjoy the odd ingredient-harvesting expedition? 

 

_ She’s powerful.  _

 

Severus could stay a step ahead of her, be her partner. Their magic was highly compatible, as they discovered earlier. 

 

_ Would she give him a chance?  _

  
  


**CXXIV**

 

Severus didn’t expect her to forget his behaviour as her teacher, but could Hermione forgive him for being… himself? 

 

She understood better than most what he’d been through. She was present for every excruciating moment of his trial. She’d given an impassioned testimony in his defence, and together she and Potter ultimately swayed the decision of the Wizengamot. 

 

He’d been meaning to thank her. 

 

Hermione’s heart was large enough to encompass Argus and his cat.  Her capacity for patience enabled her to coexist with Potter and Weasley for months without killing either of them. 

 

That last thought was particularly heartening. 

  
  


**CXXV**

 

**_We need to be careful of our mates_ ** , said the God.  **_Yours might not harness magma and wield tempests, but all females are forces of creation and destruction._ **

 

_ It isn’t just Hermione _ , answered Severus. _ She’s a Gryffindor. _

 

Married to Granger, he’d be forced to associate with Potter. 

 

And the Weasleys.

 

Good Godric, she has parents!

 

Severus was running out of objections. His resistance was merely a habitual reflex. He’d made promises and he would keep them. 

 

_ I won’t know a moment’s peace.  _

 

The God whispered,  **_That is because you’ll never be alone again._ **

 

Severus took a deep breath.  _ I’m ready.  _


	20. CXXVI-CXXXII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy this one! It needed a little extra hammering, and you may notice that one of the drabbles is 200 instead of 100. It just didn't want to be smaller, what can you do? 
> 
> Thanks to Toodleoo, Havelocked, and deweydecimateher for their beta assistance. They make this way better than it might have been otherwise. 
> 
> Your comments and enthusiasm feed my creative fire, and I appreciate each and every one of you! Thank you!

**CXXVI**

 

Hermione had made a mistake. What had compelled her to mention that logic puzzle? She knew he would discover her identity at some point, but she’d expected their game to last longer. 

 

The moment that the Knut dropped into place, his face had gone blank, no longer animated with playfulness and desire, leaving the professor she’d once known. 

 

Her heart was thumping faster, its beat pounding in her ears. 

 

His lack of reaction allowed her imagination to run rampant. 

 

_ Professor Snape would never hurt me.  _

 

Hermione struggled to regain control of her emotions before she did something even more embarrassing.

  
  


**CXXVII**

 

Hermione’s nerves wound tighter with every passing moment as she waited for _ any _ response from her newly sworn husband. 

 

_ Don’t be ridiculous, _ Hermione chided herself. _ Given his old patterns of behaviour, at worst the Professor would call everyone’s attention to what a spectacle I’ve made of myself by playing this game. Words, just silly words,  _ Hermione reminded herself.  __

 

Old wounds buried deep in her psyche opened, whispering into Hermione’s mind, echoing back weaponized words that cut so deeply a lifetime ago.  _ “I see no difference,” _ he had said.  _ “Are you incapable of restraining yourself, or do you take pride in being an insufferable know-it-all?”  _

 

She huffed, a roar of anger sweeping away the pain of self-pity.   _ Pull yourself together, Hermione. You aren’t that girl any longer, nor is he the same man. Don’t presume to put words in his mouth. _ That _ really would be insufferable.  _

 

A revelation came to her, cold and weighty. It wasn’t what he’d say or not say. What she truly feared was that he’d walk away, leaving her alone. 

 

_ I wouldn’t blame him.  _

 

Hermione Granger felt ashamed of herself. She’d risked everything for the sake of honesty, but it was done out of selfishness and arrogance. 

  
  


**CXXVIII**

 

When Snape broke his silence, Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin. 

 

“I am a man of my word.” 

 

Hermione opened her mouth, intending to reassure him that she’d not hold him to a promise made in ignorance of the facts. 

 

Before she could speak, he held up a hand to bid her to silence. “You were one of my most disappointing students, Miss Granger.” 

 

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. “No. Way.”  __

 

Snape placed a finger on her lips. “Shh.” 

 

She glared back. _Git._ _I’ll switch your nose for your bollocks!_ She’d prove Transfiguration had a better teacher.  

  
  


**CXXIX**

 

Snape’s staying hand moved, turning to brush her cheek lightly with his knuckles. Hermione had been ready to hex him, but the tenderness of the gesture flummoxed her.  

 

He only made it worse when he said, “It would take a true miracle from the Gods themselves to find a woman both willing and capable enough to be my wife.” 

 

Hermione opened her mouth and found herself abruptly and completely at a loss for words. “What?” 

 

Lips twisting in a wry smile, Snape wrapped one of her curls about his forefinger. “I shall repeat myself, although my words are plain enough.” 

  
  


**CXXX**

 

Hermione decided that she’d finally lost her mind. Severus Snape was  _ teasing _ her and tugging on her hair. 

 

“I am a man of my word. Hermione Granger was terrible in Potions. A woman who would willingly marry me is her own miracle.” He sounded like a quiz show host, reading out trivia answers. Would the right answer win her a toaster?  

 

She failed to suppress a gasp, as it clicked: he was  _ still _ playing her ruddy game. 

 

Two truths and a lie. 

 

Severus looked directly into her eyes and said, “Perhaps I should elaborate further.”

 

Hermione answered, “Yes. Please do.” 

  
  


**CXXXI**

 

Snape smiled down at her, his finger ghosting over the edge of Hermione’s ear. 

 

She shivered under the light touch.  _ He’s smiling! At me!  _

 

The rare event was short lived, for his smile disappeared as he continued in a serious tone. “My wife would need to be well-read, and able to hold her own in debate.  I cannot tolerate empty prattle.”   

 

“I see,” Hermione replied simply, for the deep timbre of his voice unraveled her wits. 

 

He continued, “She must be brave. I am not fit for human discourse before morning coffee. My tongue is dangerous at any given hour.”   

  
  


**CXXXII**

 

Nothing was going to plan, Hermione mused ruefully. Severus’ voice disarmed her, preventing her from forming coherent thoughts. 

 

“Any woman who married me would have to be exceedingly kind-hearted. I shall trespass on her patience often. I never trouble myself with observing the niceties.” Severus brushed his thumb lightly against her cheek, his fingertips burrowing into Hermione’s hair. 

 

Hermione leaned into his touch, sighing. 

 

“My wife would need a vast capacity for forgiveness, for my many past and future failures.” His voice changed, becoming strained, “Hermione, I cannot be the sort of man you deserve.”

 

Her heart cracked. “Oh, Severus.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enthusiasts may be interested to know that I've reposted the first chapter, now with a Shiny! New! Prologue, and expanded drabbles in the original first chapter. I am slowly going through and rewriting some of the earlier stuff to make things better while still writing more, but I will let you know as I repost. Mwah!


	21. CXXXIII-CXL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Grangersnape100's Spring Fever Challenge
> 
> Thanks to Toodleoo, Havelocked, and deweydecimateher for their beta skillz, without whom my story would be gobbledygook. 
> 
> Thanks also to readers like you! Your comments are appreciated, every one!

**CXXXIII**

 

Hermione was flabbergasted. Severus thought that  _ she  _ deserved better? 

 

She’d worried that he would be repulsed by her flaws. She was brusque and her memory unforgivably accurate. She wouldn’t let an argument drop if she believed she was correct. She really  _ could _ be insufferable. 

 

But this wasn’t really about her, was it? 

 

_ No, _ she thought.  _ Silly man. _

 

“Will you forgive me for all of my trespasses against you? I set you on fire my first year. I stole from you in my second year. Oh, and then I assaulted you. All before I sat for my O.W.L.s.” 

  
  


**CXXXIV**

 

Severus wasn’t responding, so Hermione continued to disabuse him of the notion that she was some sort of sacred paragon of virtue. 

 

“Not enough?” she asked. “Well, let’s see. I helped two convicted criminals escape—although one was a hippogriff—using the Time-Turner I was meant to keep only for the purposes of study.” 

 

The fingers in her hair twitched. She suspected she should stop, but she couldn’t stop herself. 

 

“Fourth year, I imprisoned a member of the press for being a hateful bitch and proceeded to blackmail her fifth year.” 

 

A quiver of his lips betrayed amusement. 

 

Hermione smiled. _ That’s better.  _

  
  


**CXXXV**

 

Encouraged by Severus’ almost-smile, Hermione kept talking. “Fifth year, my classmates signed my secret magical contract. Marietta Edgecombe suffered permanent facial scars when she broke it.”  

 

She did feel guilty, but the sneak forced Dumbledore to abandon the school for Harry’s sake.

 

“You heard what happened to Senior Undersecretary Umbridge and the centaurs? Me.” 

 

Severus snorted in what she fancied was amusement. 

 

“I helped Harry break into the Ministry of Magic, leaving school on a stolen thestral. I was there when all of the Prophecies were smashed. That wasn’t a loss. Not like the destruction of all of the Time-Turners.” 

  
  


**CXXXVI**

 

Through his mask, Hermione could make out what she hoped were laugh-lines around Severus’ eyes. 

 

“I stole several books from the Headmaster’s Office before we left sixth year.  I threw all caution to the wind and performed a highly illegal Undetectable Extension charm on my handbag and then wiped my very existence from my parents’ memories for their safety. That done, I masterminded the ongoing logistics of a guerilla subunit to help overthrow an oppressive fascist regime.”   

 

She paused to lick her lips, dry from talking. 

 

Severus said, “Is that all?” 

 

“No, not quite.”  Hermione wished he’d kiss her again. 

  
  


**CXXXVII**

 

Unable to maintain her poise under his intense gaze, Hermione dropped her eyes. “As Undesirable Number Two, I was apprehended after seven months of evading the Ministry authorities. I escaped interrogation, thanks to Dobby the house-elf, who died to save us.” 

 

The pressure of Severus’ grip on her hair increased and she hurriedly swallowed past the lump of grief that formed within her throat. 

 

“I added fraud, larceny, and destruction of property to my offenses at Gringotts.  Setting that poor dragon free was  _ not _ a crime.”  

 

Severus tilted her chin up, silently demanding that she look him in the eyes. 

  
  


**CXXXVIII**

 

As he searched her eyes, the lines on her husband’s face hardened, brought into stark relief by the light from the bonfire. 

 

“There’s a clear difference between us. Hermione, you were forced to fight for your  _ life _ .” 

 

“And you didn’t? If you won’t hold what I did against me in my youth, then you don’t get to condemn yourself. We are alike, Severus.” 

 

He let her head go, shaking his head in vehement denial. “No, you never…” 

 

Her voice shrill with frustration, Hermione cut him off. “I never what? Killed? Don’t be ridiculous. I was fighting for my life long before that day we defeated Voldemort. I killed. I know I killed at least one Death Eater the night we moved Harry, and I was only  _ seventeen. _ ” 

 

She stepped forward, afraid that Severus was going to walk away.  “The worst  _ you _ did that night was give George material for a lifetime of bad jokes!”  

 

Now it was Severus who wouldn’t look at her. “You misrepresent the facts, but to what end?” 

 

“Severus! You and I are not exactly the same, but we are also not so very different. I’m not perfect!” Hermione gestured to herself and said, “I’m just… me.”  

  
  


**CXL**

 

Severus stole a glance at Hermione. 

 

_ Is he shy? That’s adorable,  _ she thought. 

 

He intoned, “On this, the first of May, in the year two thousand four, Hermione Granger decreed that she is not perfect.” 

 

Hermione snorted.  _ Check that. He’s a prat.  _ She tried to let go of his hand, but he used his grip to pull her closer. 

 

Severus added, “I shall write it down, lest either of us forget.”  

 

“Why, you…!” Hermione was spluttering. 

 

He bent his head, perhaps to kiss her, but she ducked away. 

 

“Git! Admit it!” Hermione poked his firm chest. “I’m ace at potions!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Chapter 2, Revised was posted today as well. I have revisions in the works through chapter eight that are still pending. Love to you all!   
> \- FL


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